The Road North
by Priestess of Groove
Summary: It was one thing to leave King's Landing. It was entirely another to escape Queen Cersei. Spoilers for S7E7.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: The first thing I thought after I saw the scene of Jaime riding north, is that there is no flipping way Cersei's just going to let him go after spilling her entire battle plan to him. She knows he'll probably talk, especially after she threatened to kill him. This is my idea of what he might face trying to get to Winterfell.**

 **Chapter 1**

As soon as he left the map room, Jaime knew he had to be quick. If she was bold enough to threaten him, she'd eventually get over her hesitation and bring her full wrath against him. He had no time to make long term preparations. As soon as he stepped into his room, he stripped himself of every piece of Lannister armor he had on. Where he was going, it would do him no favors.

He dressed as warmly as he could, but left all thicker cloaks behind. They would just slow him down and he could always get one as soon as he reached Winterfell, presuming they didn't kill him first.

He shook the thought from his head. There could be no hesitation. He had to make it to Winterfell. Whether he kept his head or not was up to the Starks, but he had to tell them of Cersei's plans. _I'll already be a traitor in her eyes, no reason not to cement it._ He pulled out every bit of drab clothing he could find and was pleasantly surprised that he had a full set considering he was virtually almost always seen in Lannister red or gold.

Changing his clothes with one hand was always slow. He had gotten better at it and it was made quicker by the lack of armor that he was bringing, but even so he kept expecting the Mountain to burst in at any moment and end him.

He avoided main walkways on his way out and paths that he knew Cersei frequented. Upon entering the stables, a stable boy leapt to his feet and he ordered, "Boy, pack me at least two weeks worth of dry rations."

"But your horse, Ser - "

"I'll get it."

He scanned the selection, feeling a pang as he realized his last horse burned to death at the hands of the dragon. That bone had to be buried, but he wasn't looking forward to seeing the dragon queen again.

" _Fuck loyalty! This goes beyond houses and honor and oaths!"_

Brienne's words had echoed through his head since she said them. Brienne, the most loyal of loyal warriors was willing to forsake everything to fight the coming threat. He shuddered when he thought back to when the Hound kicked open the box and a half-decayed dead person came screaming at them with burning blue eyes.

Fear had coursed through him and then when Daenerys had estimated to be one hundred thousand, his heart had actually stuttered. How were they _possibly_ going to stop an onslaught of that magnitude? Especially when good old-fashioned steel wouldn't even work against the basic ones. He really didn't see how they were going to overcome a threat like this, but...they had to try. He couldn't just stand idly by and wait for his death.

He didn't give a shit that Cersei was funding The Golden Company from Essos. They were both going to die no matter who won the Great War up north and he'd rather die fighting for a cause that _meant_ something. He had personally never cared about the throne, but it appeared once his sister got an eye on it, it was all she could obsess about.

He selected a jet black mount. It would be easier to hide until he got far enough north out of Cersei's reach. He checked the shoes and saddled it. The boy popped up with his rations and he stuffed as much as he could into his saddle bags. Two weeks rations was not enough to get him to Winterfell, but he thought he might be able to hunt along the way. A bow would be impossible for him, but setting traps at night should be sufficient for game. He rode up to the gate and the guards instantly lifted it for him. He still couldn't believe Cersei hadn't already swooped in to take his authority away.

It dawned on him as he left that Cersei still expected him to come crawling back, but the gate slammed shut behind him with a ringing note of finality. He wondered if he would ever see King's Landing again, but dared not look back. He rode a short ways north and already felt the cold, dull ache that his metal hand gave him. It was best he covered it anyway and as he did so a snowflake fell and melted.

 _When was the last time it snowed in King's Landing?_ It had to have been at least fifteen years. He nudged the horse to continue and as he went, the snow fell thick and gentle. He quietly cursed himself. "Maybe a black palfrey wasn't the best choice."

Jaime rode through the night. The snow fell unceasing. He met not a soul on the road, but with the odd way snow tended to dampen sound, he heard not a soul either. No birds or bats could be heard fluttering or squeaking, not even the howl of a wolf echoed across the fields. All he could hear was a cold dead silence, giving him the impression that he was already the only living soul left in the world. It spooked him.

 _How much time do we have?_ Jon Snow didn't expressly say what positioning was like, but if he was correct then they could take heart that they were still secured safely behind the Wall. _The Wall._ Even though he knew it existed, it still held the same place in his mind as the Others, grumpkins, and snarks. He remembered vaguely that Jon Snow had gone to join the Night's Watch the last time he'd been in Winterfell. He'd left with Tyrion.

 _How did he become King of the North?_ The Northmen took their oaths seriously, so where did they forgive his oath-breaking?

All through the night, questions floated to the top of his thoughts like bubbles. _Brienne looked well. Did she and Pod ever find Arya Stark? What was the Hound doing with the Starks? How did Theon Greyjoy end up with the Starks? Surely after he'd murdered the two younger siblings, they would have demanded his head from Daenerys. I wonder what Bronn's doing. I had no time to ask him, but would he have come? I won't have access to the gold I usually do, so probably not. With luck, he won't be caught in the line of fire when Cersei finally finds her anger._

He ran through all the names that he knew and realized with a jolt that the Vale had gone North on _Petyr Baelish's_ command. They had given him the Eyrie and he had ultimately sided with the Starks anyway. The Starks may be forced to execute him for the terrible things he wanted to do to _Lord_ Baelish when he saw him.

He was occupied enough that he was able to pay little attention to the cold, but he winced at the tightness in his shoulders. _When did I get so old?_ Ever since his extended stay with Robb Stark, he had never quite felt up to his usual self and he had never had the opportunity to get back to his status quo because Locke, the evil cunt, had decided to remove his hand. He still missed his hand, but he had surprised himself into accepting his new reality. Whatever the world threw at him, he'd find a way to adapt and persevere.

 _And now I have to survive without Cersei,_ he was surprised at himself that the pang that hit him wasn't nearly as severe as he expected it would be. They had been together for so long, endured so much, he thought there was nothing to tear them apart. And of all things...it was the iron throne. His lip curled at the thought of that great ugly chair. If he were being honest with himself - and now was surely the time - he had been seeing her slow descent into madness for quite sometime, but he kept asking himself, _Where can I possibly go?_ He had made far too many enemies to be able to take refuge anywhere. And with his sword arm gone, he wasn't truly capable of joining a mercenary company across the sea. He would be short-lived and even as much as he deserved death, he wasn't quite ready to go yet.

Jaime had been traveling for some time when he realized he could see everything in pale gray rather than darkness. Dawn was approaching, but instead of stopping he hopped off the horse and began leading it while he stretched his legs, grimacing once more at the sharp creaks and cracks emanating from his knees. He really should have taken more breaks, but he had been intent on putting as much distance between himself and Cersei as possible. He still probably wasn't more than a dozen miles out from King's Landing.

The snow was still falling, piling up several inches. He glanced back to see the long trail his horse had left in the snow and grimaced. It would be nigh impossible to hide his path. He hoped that the road would grow busy with the daylight, but with the onset of the first snow, he wasn't hopeful. He would have to be very careful from here on out about where his horse tread. At the very least, his tracks were covered up to a point, but the only road North from King's Landing was the King's Road and if he wanted to reach Winterfell swiftly, then he dare not stray far from it.

It would take a miracle to get to Winterfell alone and with Cersei's hounds after him.

He hopped back onto his horse after a while of walking and continued at a brisk pace until he saw the light drawing to a close once more. It was still snowing, but it had yet to morph into a blizzard. The snowfall was gentle and steady. He was grateful because it wouldn't be quite so bad sleeping out in the snow. He couldn't trust inns, those would undoubtedly be the first place Cersei had her hounds look. He glanced behind him and then forward and found the road disturbingly empty. As it happened, he saw only a handful of carts, heading _south_ , but no one except him dared to travel alone. He'd just passed through a tiny town of a few scattered houses, but though he could see the flicker of firelight in the windows, he saw no faces. He took the lead and carefully led the horse off the road into the woods. He stopped so that he could just see the road, but so that someone would have to look awfully close to see him.

He did the normal chores a squire would've done for his knight, hobbling the horse, giving it a bag of oats, and then brushing it down. He didn't bother setting up a tent. There was little wind to speak of and most of it was broken by the trees. He laid his bedroll out and wrapped up in his horse blanket.

For the whole day had passed in complete silence for him and the silence now persisted. He was used to the usual commotion of a campsite, the mutter and grumble as people went about their tasks. The only thing he could hear now was the soft crunching of the horse eating.

He never thought he'd miss Bronn's irritating chatter, but he did. It didn't take him long to sleep and slept quietly. The night slowly went by around him. It was in the middle of the night when he was jolted awake by the urgent pounding of hooves on the road. He looked just in time to see the dim pin pricks of torchlight.

 _It's them._ Cersei's hounds were out.

Jaime slowly rose to his feet and hastily packed again. He at the least felt alert and ready to do what was necessary to evade the new threat. The men had rushed right past him heading north. They would eventually double back. If they reached him that quickly then they too hadn't slept the night before. It was too risky to use the road, so he carefully picked his way through the underbrush pulling the horse along.

He had been at it for a hour when hooves could be heard again. He instantly stopped moving and held his breath, hugging a tree closely for cover. At the pace they were going, they were rather quickly and sloppily scanning the trees.

"He may not have even come this way!"

"Don't be daft, Roran. The Queen said he was goin' North. He would be along the King's Road."

"Mighta taken a side road and catched a ship in Duskendale."

"Well, that's for the others to find. We 'ave all the roads covered, it ain' possible to slip through us all."

"Fuck this. Too cold for chasin' down her traitor brother."

"Feel free to trot your way on back to the Queen and tell it to her face. She promised us ten Gold Dragons each for his hide. I ain't passin' that up."

"We've looked! Their ain't nothin' here. I'm tellin' ya, he got on a ship once he left King's Landing."

"She don' believe that and neither do I."

 _I wish,_ Jaime thought to himself. The problem with ships is that they never left when you needed them to most.

"C'mon, let's go back to the inn. I wanna cuppa that ale and snatch a few hours a' sleep a'fore we head out in the morn."

"Maybe you're right. He can't have gotten too far. We road hard to get here and he would've ridden about the same. We'll catch the gold-handed cunt in our net later."

He let out his breath when the last of their hoof beats had faded. He had hoped to gain more time on the road, but he should've known Cersei would be whipping her dogs into a frenzy to get him faster. There was probably a bonus for who found him.

After tying the horse up to make sure it didn't wander off, he carefully crept up to the road. He waited for a few minutes in case anybody came back, but all he could hear was the soft sigh of the breeze in the trees. He stepped out onto the road, finding it empty and carefully examined the snow for traffic.

Even in the night, there was enough light available for him to get a vague idea of group size. There were at least half a dozen men and horses that had trampled through. It had impacted the snow into the mud, creating a hard surface that would be difficult making noticeably new footprints on.

It was risky to use the road now that he knew who could catch him at any moment, but he couldn't very well _walk_ to the North. He had to take the chance. With his heart in his throat he retrieved the horse and headed up the road, hoping that there was something he could do to throw off the hounds' scent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: Thanks for everyone who followed and left reviews. I recommend listening to Bioshock Infinite's Elizabeth theme. Very GoT-like and I listened to it while writing this.**

 **Chapter 2**

Jaime drew up his horse quickly when he came upon the inn Cersei's hounds talked about. It was early enough in the morning that the windows were mercifully dark on all floors. No one was awake except the eight horses tied up at the post _outside_. The inn wasn't quite big enough for a stable. He dismounted and quietly crept up with his lead in hand, feeling an idea come to mind, and a mischievous grin to his face.

He withdrew the knife at his side and slashed the reins of every single horse but the last one. There was no sense in running his own well-bred palfrey to death when he had this mangy, piebald nag at his disposal. He brought the two horses together and then glanced around for anything useful. He saw the whip hung up on the wall and carefully lifted it up. _Perfect._

He climbed onto the mangy horse and tied his palfrey to the horn of the saddle. He positioned himself carefully and then slashed the whip at the other horses. It was graceless, but it did the job. The horses screamed and shot off down the road in panic.

At the same time, Jaime nudged his horse into a run and thundered down the road, not caring how much noise he made now that he had scattered the rest of the mounts and cut their reigns. He chuckled quietly to himself.

"Cersei, you should know better than to send halfwits after me. Stupidest Lannister, indeed."

If he was being honest with himself, that barb had cut the deepest. _Stupidest Lannister._ It was true that he'd never paid much attention to politics or gold, but he hadn't _needed_ to. He was supposed to be in the Kingsguard for life! They were above politics and subtle maneuverings. But now, now, he was out in his field. He may not have a hand, but he knew how to survive in the wild.

He experienced his second winter in the King's Guard and Ser Barristan Selmy had taken great pains to make sure he knew how to weather it. He knew where to find edible food for both himself and his horse should it run out, he always carried flint to make a fire, it was essential that he keep circulation in his extremities, but the most important rule of all was to keep dry. He rather doubted the lackwits he'd just hobbled would know what to do if one of them should fall in an open stream in the winter.

He drove the horse hard the whole day and only stopped when it began flagging and wheezed terribly as it breathed. It was close to death, so he hopped off it and plunged the knife into its heart to ease its passing. It groaned and collapsed. He raided the saddlebags for anything and was dismayed that the owner of the horse had the good sense to empty them of almost everything except oats. He happily snatched that up.

He'd spent a great deal of time seated and decided it would be best to get his blood flowing and so he walked down the road pulling his palfrey along. It had been pulled along by the other horse, so it wasn't in as bad a shape, but it still needed rest.

It wasn't long before he was back in the saddle again. He really needed to keep gaining as much ground as possible at every opportunity.

As night fell once more, he again led his palfrey off the road into the forest, and did the same routine as the night before. This time he set a trap for game. He desperately wished to continue, but he had to keep up his and his horse's energy. He fell into a restless sleep.

He existed in a dark void that reminded him of the deep silence of the snow laden land. He could sense a presence and he called out, "Brienne! Are you there?" He never thought he'd be so desperate to see her pale, homely face, but he had no one else to expect a warm welcome from, but the presence felt like it had deepened and he involuntarily shivered at the oppressive atmosphere.

Cersei walked out of the shadows: "How stupid are you that you thought you could get away from me. I said no one leaves me!"

For the first time in his life, his heart dropped at seeing his sister and flinched back from her.

It rang clear as a bell, the sharp scraping of the sword as the Mountain unsheathed it from behind him. His heart jolted and he shot up awake, breathing heavily and glancing around frantically. For as long as he lived, he would never get that sound out of his ears.

He checked his trap to find a rabbit struggling wildly to get out. He usually would wring its neck, but that required two hands, so he bashed its head against a tree until it stopped moving. He tied it to the horse. The cold would keep it fresh for a time until he actually felt safe enough to start a fire.

The snow had finally stopped sometime in the night and off the road it was knee deep. The silence accompanied by it persisted. He had heard a couple of twigs snapping in the night, but as he didn't hear human voices with them, he assumed they must be deer. What bothered him most of all was that he hadn't yet heard any wolves nearby. Their silence was most suspicious, but he didn't dwell on it and once again continued down the road.

He started off on his feet first thing in the morning in the hopes that a brisk walk might loosen up the joints that had frozen in the night. His spirits were lower now that he had barely slept in three days, but he kept plodding along. He was beginning to feel weary from lack of sleep, but so far his clothes were warm enough that the cold did little to affect him, at least for now. It was always cold up in the north and he had a feeling now that he would regret not taking one of his heavier cloaks.

 _I wonder if Brienne has reached White Harbor yet..._ He had left about three days after Jon Snow and the Dragon Queen. They had all boarded a ship headed for White Harbor so that they could get to Winterfell in at least two weeks. He imagined Brienne being driven stir crazy on a ship where she had no opportunity to practice her sword fighting. _I'm on the same boat as Brienne in a sense. I can't practice my sword fighting either._

He glanced mournfully at his left hand. Under Bronn's rather strict tutelage he _had_ improved. With time he had even managed to train his brain to start reaching with his left hand rather than his right. That had easily been one of the more frustrating parts of losing his hand. He would reach for things only to to pull out a bloody stump, like his brain forgot his hand wasn't there. It was a small annoyance, but pervasive. As with everything he had tackled in life, he simply pushed through it and tried to ignore the little voice in his head that now told him he was worthless. A voice that perhaps not so oddly sounded like Cersei.

His brow furrowed. _How could I have let her poison me for so long?_ He thought back to the day he had returned to King's Landing. He had been skinny from the lack of food and lost much of his muscle mass from his long stay in the cells under Riverrun. His hair was no longer a tangled nest, but he was unwashed and his face was drawn from both pain and a lack of sleep. When Cersei's eyes had fallen on him and her expression darkened, he felt like he had been slapped in the face.

Later, her words cut through him like knives. She had never forgiven him for losing his own hand. He brushed away the thoughts and mounted the horse. He needed to focus. If he was going to get to the Neck alive, then he couldn't allow stray thoughts to cloud his mind.

Some time later, the forest opened up on his left side. Harrenhal loomed before him and if he hadn't been on his horse he would've stopped in his tracks. Harrenhal, the place of his redemption. Where Brienne had begun to believe in him, where he had stupidly jumped into a bear pit without any kind of weapon to save her. That might have been more foolhardy than old Ned Stark trusting Littlefinger, but he had still made it out of there alive. It was the moment where his life turned around, but if Daenerys Targareyen felt the need to finish Aegon the Conqueror's job in melting it, he would champion her efforts. It stood empty and forbidding and he nudged the horse to hurry along faster until they were back under the trees.

Only a few hours later, Jaime found himself in Harroway's Town. Now that the snows had stopped, people here were going about their business, but activity in the town seemed to draw to a halt as soon as he stepped anywhere near it.

He did his best to ignore them. It was possible they didn't know who he was, especially now that he wasn't wearing Lannister colors, but there was no mistaking that he must be a Lord of some sort. He paid them little attention and focused on following the road, only to be brought up short. The Trident was running high and fast. It still wasn't quite cold enough to freeze the water, but the autumn rains had caused it to overflow their banks and where the stone bridge across used to be, now there was a gaping hole.

"Shit," he muttered to himself and promptly turned his horse to head down stream. With luck, he'd be able to find a ferry to carry him across this one river so that he wouldn't have to go upstream and cross the other forks.

He didn't have to travel far. An elderly gentleman with a boat large enough to fit at least a dozen men was standing outside whittling. He straightened up though as soon as Jaime trotted up.

"Would you be so kind as to ferry me across?" Jaime showed him a gold dragon.

The man looked at it for a moment and nodded, but then said, "I try to fill up the boat. The Seven know I don't want to cross this river more times a day than I have to."

"My horse and I will be the only passengers," Jaime said, giving him another gold dragon.

The man finally nodded and Jaime led his horse on board. Orders were barked and a pair of deck hands came out to start rolling the ropes and casting off. He took the opportunity to feed his horse an apple and then stayed behind the cabin so that no one could see him from the bank he'd just left. As soon as he crossed to the other side, he'd be in the Vale and he knew there weren't any Lords there with any particular interest to serve Queen Cersei.

Jaime was keyed to keep moving, but he forced himself to stand where he was and not pace. Everyone on board who passed him gave him odd looks, but he never acknowledged them and he didn't stand in their way, so they let him be.

The trip was mercifully quick. Once his horse was on dry land, he turned to address the man again when there was a thundering of hooves.

"Kingslayer!"

 _Seven_ riders pulled up to the other side of the bank. One had been left behind, probably dead, since he stole their other horse. Jaime heard a twang and he pushed the old man down as he dove behind the cover of the boat. An arrow buried itself into the wood of the stern and another smacked the ground just a few inches short of his foot. A woman in the cabin screamed and he hoped that no one on the deck had been killed.

The man was looking at him in terror, but Jaime merely pulled out another gold dragon and said, "Probably best that you stay on this side of the river for the time being." The man nodded at him fearfully, but his hand closed around the coin all the same. He grabbed his horse's lead and ran off into the cover of the trees, so that he could mount his horse in peace.

"OLD MAN! IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YA, YOU'LL COME BACK OVER HERE AND GET US. BY ORDER OF THE QUEEN ."

Jaime was fairly confident that the man would have the good sense to _not_ go over there, especially now that he had three gold dragons which could feed his whole family for close to a year. All the same, Jaime nudged his horse into a run and galloped down the road, as though his sister herself were breathing down his neck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your support! I'm glad you're all excited.**

 **Guest: I've always been under the impression that part of the reason Jaime might love Brienne is that she represents everything that he always wanted to be, but he was, in a sense, too scared to try for. But, of course, his home life was god awful, because those traits that are so admired in stories were considered weak by both Tywin and Cersei.**

 **Guest: The show was annoying about teleporting, but they had a lot of story to get to, so I'd rather they cover that then worry about filler for travel sections. That said, I put the estimate to get to Winterfell at about a month. Jaime's traveling alone and not with an army, so he'll be moving much faster, barring any unforeseen circumstances.**

 **Chapter 3**

It was getting colder. Jaime had started shivering uncontrollably the day before and it seemed no matter how much he tried to get off his horse and keep walking, he couldn't keep the cold from reaching his bones. He had to let go of the reins often to flex his left hand to keep the blood flowing. At night he removed his boots for a short period of time and rubbed his feet to keep warm.

It had been three days since he crossed the river. He knew the next best crossing was the Twins unless there was another peasant with a boat willing to ferry Cersei's hounds, so he kept going, never staying in one place for more than a few hours. Despite the deepening cold there seemed to be more people on the roads, most heading south. If he wanted to make reasonable time, he couldn't pick his way through the forest to remain anonymous, so he threaded his horse through the carts and groups of people trudging by.

Just as twilight was setting in, he entered another town and looked longingly at the inn nearby. He would pay the innkeeper in his weight in gold for one bed out of the cold and a hot meal, but it was too risky. Instead, he stopped by and entered the stables.

The stable boy was lounging at the back of the stalls as far away out of the wind as he could get, but upon seeing Jaime, he leapt to his feet like his breeches were on fire and hurried. "Padron, m'lord. Just tryin' to stay out o' the wind. I'll get your hors - "

"Easy boy, I'm not staying. I need food for my horse. I have coin to pay," Jaime said, holding up a small bag and shaking it so that it would jingle. "Now, I will give you extra if you tell no one I was here." The boy's eyes widened, but he nodded and abruptly ducked inside.

Jaime waited patiently yet nervously. Even stopping for a moment was risky, but his horse was doing without much like him and he could see it was wearing on the animal.

The boy abruptly came back, hopping down the steps with a pair of sacks in one hand and a bowl of stew in the other. "Here ya're, m'lord. It's cold out there. You look like you could use a hot meal."

The stew could have been made of rat's eyes and Jaime would have still gulped it down like it was the last drink of water in the world. He sat at the table that was no doubt for the boys to stay out of the way at and ate. A warm piece of bread had also been thrown into the stew and he tore into like it was a piece of meat.

Measter Volarik would probably collapse dead if he could see the way Jaime was shoveling the stew down his mouth. He mopped up every last precious piece of stew left and handed it back to the boy. "My thanks to you. You've earned this." He slapped the entire tiny bag onto the table, then tied up the feed the boy gave him and walked out. He mounted his horse and just before leaving, asked, "Tell me, boy, how much farther to the Neck?"

"Not more than twenty miles, m'lord."

Jaime nodded and nudged his horse to keep going. His soul felt like it was singing. He didn't have more than two days until he reached the true North. The likelihood of anyone under Cersei's influence crossing any further north were slim at best. He wouldn't be truly safe until he reached Winterfell, but it was a point of security. The crannogmen should take care of unruly louts. He just hoped they didn't feel the same about him.

No one had approached the inn in the time he was there because anyone who wasn't a fool or on the run from a mad queen would already be situated for the night. As was his custom, he rode off a ways down the road until there was not even a hint of other folk and did the same song and dance, only this time he was able to fall into bed on a full stomach and for once, slept through most of the night peacefully.

Despite the gray of the sky, Jaime could tell it was early morning, much later than he normally had slept on his trip. He muttered about how he should be more careful, but the truth of it, he felt far more alert and capable than he had for the past week and recognized that he had desperately needed a good night's rest. He also felt less affected by the cold and barely shivered.

As he had been doing since he left King's Landing, he ate his rations on the road. He was running low, but he had caught a squirrel the night before and then the night before that another rabbit. He would have to stop soon to cook his catches, but was still nervous about Cersei's hounds after him.

This close to the neck there were considerably fewer towns. Howland Reed, the of lord the crannogmen preferred to keep his people close and buried in the swamp. It was said that the lord's house was built on rafts, so that its location was constantly moving and no one was able to find it unless the lord wanted them to.

The snow had started again, but the flakes were small and falling gently. The wind had yet to pick up, so Jaime kept the horse plodding along and very briefly he enjoyed the scenery. The further away he got from King's Landing, the lighter he felt.

The day was nearing its end when he heard a sound that shot fear into his heart. It was a rhythmic drumming of horse's hooves as they closed in on their prey. He turned and then kicked his horse to into running. The hounds were back and their horses were screaming along at a dead run. He had to wonder just how hard they had been run to catch up with him.

He was able to stay a fair distance ahead of them for a time, but unless their horses started collapsing out from under them, they were going to catch him. He had pushed his palfrey too hard. He may not have run it, but he granted it very little rest and didn't stop to water or feed it all that often. Its legs were flagging, they were getting closer.

Suddenly his horse screamed, toppled. He was catapulted from the saddle and only just turned his head so that his left shoulder impacted the ground instead of his neck. He cried out in agony as his shoulder twisted and he rolled a few times before coming to a stop. He tried to scramble to his feet, but his left shoulder flared in agony. He was forced to use his golden hand to claw along the ground for purchase.

He crawled to the horse and tried to ignore the pain in the shoulder as he worked the straps to get the saddle bag free. There was an arrow sticking out of his horse's right haunch and it struggled and moaned as he worked on it. _I won't make it too far without food,_ he thought to himself, but then the riders were upon him.

There was one mad man with a crazed look in his eye and his mouth twisted into a rictus. The man wore little more than dirty rags and his teeth were blackened in his mouth. He held his sword out behind him and leaned down for a hit.

Pain exploded in Jaime's skull as he felt the metal ping against his skull and his vision went white. He'd been hit at such a speed that it flung him on his back. He blinked desperately to clear his vision, but it had faded to black and for one horrifying moment, he was afraid the impact had made him blind. Slowly the details and the colors, as gray and dark as they were, came back and he tried to pull himself away in a vain hope to hide in the undergrowth, but the rest of the group was upon him and the other rider who hit him returned.

"Where do you think yer goin', Kingslayer!" One of them howled and leapt onto his back and wrenched at his tunic to turn him over. Jaime took the opportunity to use his gold hand as a club and swung, giving the man a good thump in the face. But the scoundrel recovered quickly and retaliated with a punch to Jaime's left eye.

Jaime groaned. The pain in his head was so intense, he could barely keep his eyes open and his shoulder throbbed so much that he was afraid to use his arm. He was not going to escape this. "Just be done with it," he mumbled to the man. "Just think, you would be known as the man who got the Kingslayer in the end. A hero in your own right."

"Nice try, but that's for the Queen to do. Kingslayer Killer. Just another title in a long list of others she got. Don't think for a moment that you'll ever get the chance to run."

"For Sevens' sake, Daggen, hurry up!"

Suddenly the flat of a sword was pressed against his throat and the air was cut off.

"I think'll knock you out nice an' good. Might get any of those funny ideas out o' yer head."

Jaime tried to move it, but his gold hand wouldn't give a good purchase and he couldn't use the strength in his left arm. The light began to fade once more and everything turned gray.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Arya raised her nose and sniffed the air. The snow had muffled the sounds as well as the scents. Prey was becoming harder to find. Arya was plodding along in the woods and her pack followed her in a line. Nymeria had led them successfully for years and she would continue to find fertile hunting grounds in the winter. Their territory the southern part of the neck, crossing from the Vale into the Riverlands. If need be, they would head further south.

Ever since Arya had learned of her very real connection to Nymeria through the wolf dreams, she had taken the time to learn how to do it better. Bran had talked her through the steps to warg, so she practiced it every night before she officially went to sleep, just so that she could be sure to do it at will. She enjoyed the way it felt to run free in her wolf's skin, to coordinate the hunt, to watch as her pack took down deer. It reminded her of the way she, Sansa, and Bran had ultimately ended Littlefinger.

A low growl rumbled in Nymeria's chest. Even Arya's thoughts on him were enough to raise the wolf's ire. Arya attempted to get back to the task at hand of tracking down another kill, her ears pricked. A rumble like thunder echoed through the trees, but Arya recognized it for horses hooves. What could possibly caused these people to be running their horses?

Nymeria bounded over to where the forest met the road. She could see shadows crossing trees. Some of the men were carrying torches, but there was one man ahead of the rest. His fear was sharp and pungent. The wolves bounded along to follow. They heard the unmistakable twang of a bow and horse and rider screamed.

Arya finally got a good view. The lone man was trying to undo his saddlebags with his left hand. She found this peculiar, but then a pursuer came into view and clocked him in the head with his sword, sending him onto his back. She inwardly winced. The other man rolled over onto his side, his eyes rolled up into his head and blood was pouring down his face. He tried to crawl away with his right hand, but it was oddly unbending and his left arm lay limp at his side. The man who had hit him with the sword had turned around and three others were coming up.

"Where do you think yer goin', Kingslayer!"

Arya felt a thrill shiver through her and she continued to watch. She hadn't seen the Kingslayer since she left King's Landing. Now that she thought about it, Sansa had mentioned that he had lost his swordhand and now had a metal one in its place.

The one with the sword leapt on the Kingslayer and wrenched his shoulder hard to turn him over, but his victim was ready and used the momentum to smack the man with his metal hand. The attacker was remarkably resilient and punched back, causing the Kingslayer to go limp.

The Kingslayer mumbled something that even her wolf ears couldn't hear, but then his attacker said, "Nice try, but that's for the Queen to do. Kingslayer Killer. Just another title in a long list of others she got. Don't think for a moment that you'll ever get the chance to run."

"For Sevens' sake, Daggen, hurry up!"

Nymeria began to growl again and moved closer.

"I think'll knock you out nice an' good. Might get any of those funny ideas out o' yer head." He put his weight on the sword over the Kingslayer's neck.

Nymeria flicked her tail.

/\/\/\/\

Jaime gasped as the sword was removed from his throat and he blinked up at the scoundrel in confusion. All he could hear was the roar of his blood in his ears, but he saw the man looking to his side.

"Now back up!" The man leveled his sword and then there was a noticeably deep growl. Suddenly a blur of white and grey passed by him and he could hear the shrill screams of the scoundrel getting his throat torn out. He sat up and was surrounded by chaos. A pair of wolves were snapping at a screaming horse. Another had the foot of another man and was trying to pull him off. The last man simply turned his horse and ran.

For a moment he just stared in astonishment and then his shock wore off and he realized this was a good time to get his supplies and run. _I must be a sight,_ he thought with a mixture of frustration and amusement. He furiously swiped blood out of his right eye. He also had to use his right arm to lift his left arm just so he could undo the straps of his saddle bags. His frustration grew as his fingers struggled while he listened to the diminishing screams of Cersei's hounds around him.

 _Finally!_ He pulled the saddlebags off and snatched up his kills. He managed to stumble his way to his feet and then froze.

A wolf as big as a horse had let off the horse it was munching on to stare at him. _A direwolf,_ he numbly thought. Then an old memory struck him like lightning. _It's the youngest Stark girl's direwolf. The one that ran away._

It was looking at him with an intelligence it should not have. _Not possible. It can't be…_ But the wolf pack were ignoring him. Somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew that the Starks were directly responsible for his rescue. _We_ severely _underestimated the Starks. They're not just an old house, they might very well be gods._ He vaguely recalled tales from his childhood where the First Men could see through an animal's eyes by warging into them. As a boy, he thought such a talent exciting, but had waved it away as nothing more than fairytale. He had considerable doubts about that now.

He turned and hobbled off down the road, heading north. The pack paid him no attention as they ripped into one of the downed horses. Most of the men's' bodies lay strewn through the area, their faces or throats having been chewed off. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found one of the horse's had run north in its panic.

Getting his own saddlebags onto the new horse was almost more trouble than it was worth and he was forced to crawl into the saddle. He somehow managed to sit up and nudged the horse onward, but it wasn't long before he was slumped over, trying to blink through the blood and pain that emanated from his head.

He left the bodies behind and didn't get back off until he was back out of view of the wolves. When he got back down, he tied up the horse and gave it an apple from someone's saddle bags. He threw down his bedroll, but when he collapsed onto it, he buried his face in the snow to ease the fire emanating from his wounds. Maybe he wouldn't be blind come the morning.

/\/\/\/\

Arya knocked on Sansa's door the next day.

"Come in," she heard faintly from inside.

"Good morning, my Lady," Arya said to her.

Sansa glanced up from the day's correspondence and gave her a small smile.

After the trial of Littlefinger, Arya had never felt closer to her sister. They had both used their individual skills to corner the mockingbird and finally put an end to his treachery. For the first time in her life, Arya had great admiration for Sansa. It was clear there was more to being a _successful_ lady than just knowing how to sew. It required more subtly and craft than Arya would've had the patience to learn. Although they lost Robb, Rickon, their lady mother and father, she felt the future of House Stark had never been stronger.

"Good morning, Arya. How is the training with Brienne go - "

"I saw the Kingslayer get attacked on the King's Road last night."

Sansa immediately dropped the letter she had been reading and narrowed her eyes at her. "As a greenseer, like Bran?"

"When I was warging with Nymeria. Her pack is around the Neck."

"What was the Kingslayer doing in the Neck?"

"No idea. He was running from a pack of Cersei's men. They shot his horse out from under him, beat him to bloody shit."

"Are you sure it was him?"

"Can't say. I haven't seen him since King's Landing, but that's what they called him."

"Did you see a metal hand?"

"He was wearing gloves, but his right hand did not bend the way it should."

Sansa frowned and Arya could see the gears working in her head. "What happened?"

"One of the men said, 'Where do you think you're going, Kingslayer.' I didn't hear what the Kingslayer said, but then the man said, 'Nice try, but that's for the Queen to do. Kingslayer Killer. Just another title in a long list of others she's got.'"

"But the Kingslayer is her twin! Her lover! What could he have possibly done that she wants him dead now too? Is he alive?"

"Hard to say. I had Nymeria and her pack kill the men attacking him."

Sansa's look turned to confusion. "You saved him?"

"He was never on my list. Cersei always was though and I wanted to piss her off."

Both girls dissolved into giggles at that. "Be sure to tell me if you see anymore of the Kingslayer."

"He must be coming to Winterfell. We'll see him in a couple of weeks."

Sansa sighed and said, "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

"It's just him alone."

"Is it though?"

"I guess we'll find out."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Wow! Thank you all so much for the support.**

 **Guest - I was pretty sure warging was preserved in the fairy tales of old. Even Jaime would've heard them. It was just presumed that warging was just fantasy instead of the real power it turned out to be.**

 **Chapter 5**

Despite sleeping in the snow, Jaime still woke up unable to see in his right eye. His face was so swollen, that he couldn't open his eyelids and could barely open his left. In the light of the day, he took stock of his injuries with what little vision he had. He felt carefully around his face. There was a tightness to the skin, indicating that blood was all over his face and the snow he had lain in was red, but it appeared to have stopped bleeding. He used a bit of water from his skins to wipe what little of it off his face that he could, but he lacked a mirror. The pain in his head was agony. It wasn't quite as painful as losing his hand, but it throbbed with every beat of his heart and his stomach roiled.

From what little he could see of his shoulder, it was a massive blue bruise from where he landed on it. Flexing his fingers hurt and he couldn't raise his arm higher than eye level.

His neck was another source of pain. He could barely breath and when he decided to test out his voice, it sounded like a rasp barely above a whisper.

He legs were the only truly untouched part, but his long term time outdoors made them stiff and difficult to walk on. He would have to start walking more so that he wouldn't lose his mobility. He doubted he could reach Winterfell now, but he had to try. _If Cersei's hounds are still out there and they catch up to me, I'm a dead man_ , he thought as he stiffly packed his bags again and started walking north once more.

What fate would await him if they did somehow manage to get him back to King's Landing without killing him? His sister's cruelty knew no bounds. He had been highly disapproving of the torture she continued to deal out to Ellaria Sand. She had deserved death, of that there was no doubt, but to murder her own child and then force her to watch her child decay? The thought had made him sick to his stomach.

 _What if she didn't kill me? What if she turned me into whatever the Mountain is?_ He was so horrified at the idea that he wanted to retch and he did. He hadn't eaten dinner the night before, so what he spit up was mostly brown fluid. His head injury flared and he was forced to bury his face back into the snow again, willing the pain to subside.

The pain dropped off once more and he staggered back to his feet. He took a swig from his water skin and spit it out, but his stomach still roiled and nausea overpowered any appetite he had. He continued on.

 _If I'd still had two good hands, I would have long put the Mountain out of his misery._ As horrible as his father's Bannerman had been, he wouldn't wish his current fate on his worst enemies. On that note, he was tempted to murder Qyburn as well. In some ways, it sickened him that he owed Qyburn his life and yet the man was insidious enough to work on horrible experiments like the Mountain. He still remembered the way Qyburn had looked at the wight's hand in fascination and his first thought was, _What's he going to make now?_

Jaime was the last person to be considered godly by any stretch of the imagination, but there were some lines that should not be crossed. He considered two of them to be respecting the dead and allowing the dying to pass on in a clean manner.

Jaime walked the rest of the day, unable to bring himself to climb onto his horse for the horse's sake and because he wasn't sure he'd do better than lay across it like a dead man. Every once in awhile he'd glance back south, but there was no one. He was the only traveler on the road and he found it as uneasy that day as he did the first.

Once again, he was struck by how _lonely_ he was. All of his life, he had never known loneliness. Even when he was imprisoned by Robb Stark, there was always a guard to needle. There were servants, soldiers, other lords and ladies, even as loathe as he was to talk to them, but out here he felt like the last man standing.

Other people often talked to their animals, but what exactly could he talk to the horse about? He was never one to share feelings and the horse wouldn't give two shits about anything other than food, so he just kept his head up and kept tugging the animal along.

It had stopped snowing again, but the sky was a perpetual gray and the glare of it caused pain to shoot through his head whenever he glanced up at it, so he kept his eyes focused on the road. On the road, there was a wind that gusted every once in awhile, stinging his eyes and causing tears to slide down his cheeks He wondered again if he shouldn't have gone back to the scene of the night before to loot his pursuer's bodies, but he hadn't wanted to take a chance with the wolf pack in case it was around again.

Daylight was fading and he found that puzzling. He couldn't have been walking more than a handful of hours when he noticed the gloom descending. He didn't want to leave off walking for the day, but the clouds obscured the moon and left him hopelessly blind. Reluctantly he led the horse off the road once more and did his routine, including setting another trap.

He found falling asleep harder and tossed and turned most of the night. _Didn't Pycelle always say that you shouldn't sleep with a head injury? Or was that Maester Volarik?_ He honestly couldn't remember.

At one point, he got back up and began pacing around. It was too cold to simply lie on the snow, hoping for sleep. He got no sleep that night. He spent the entirety of it pacing, hopping, stretching, anything to get the blood flowing back into his feet and hand. His trap was empty in the morning, probably because of his restlessness.

Unfortunately, his injuries had seen little improvement. He tried to eat breakfast, which consisted of cheese and dried meat, and brought it back up within the hour. _Looks like I'll die of my injuries before I make it to Winterfell,_ he thought with not a hint of irony. At one point, he tried to keep a fistful of snow held to his forehead in the chance that it would help with the wound above his right eye - which he still couldn't see out of - but all it accomplished was getting his teeth chattering.

He tore a hole in the front of his tunic so that he could still his left hand in to warm up against his body. It had been difficult since his hand initially felt like ice, but it did the trick and he felt more sure he would keep the rest of his fingers.

Every once in awhile he would look back down south, but not even so much as a deer disturbed the snow behind him. He hoped that was the end of Cersei's men. He remained nervous, feeling like someone was watching him, but he saw nothing to justify the feeling.

He tried to stay alert as he rode the horse, but he found himself nodding off and eventually jumped down to walk, but his night awake had affected him worse than he thought. He could barely keep his one opened eye focused. Luck was on his side and yet again he did not meet anyone on the road.

He pulled the horse into the trees, but unlike before, he dare not go more than a few feet in for shelter. He was very firmly in the neck and he had heard countless accounts of men stepping to their death by falling into the bog. The ground did seem squishier and since he saw no one, he felt reasonably safe to sleep just a few feet from the road. He even tied up the flap of canvas he had brought to keep the snow off him in the night.

Jaime choked down a dinner of cheese and meat once more and this time kept it down. He curled up under three blankets and though he shivered, he dropped off into sleep.

/\/\/\/\

Howland Reed just saw the Kingslayer curl up to go to sleep and now he waited to make sure he was deep enough into it.

He and his men had been following the Kingslayer since he entered the neck a day ago. Lord Reed barely recognized the north's infamous enemy and was shocked at the extent of the injuries the Kingslayer had sustained. The right side of his face and hair were caked in blood and it was so swollen it forced his eye closed. And whenever the Kingslayer walked his horse, he held his left arm with a stiffness that couldn't be contributed to cold.

Howland sent his men out to scout the area and within the hour, a pair were back with reports of slaughtered horses and men with their throats torn out.

"That's not the Kingslayer's doing," Howland muttered.

"Wolves," one of his men said.

Howland looked at him sharply and nodded. To the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, the crannogmen would have been viewed as superstitious, but they held close to their hearts the beliefs of the First Men. Jojen had said that Brandon Stark could warg. It was not unreasonable to believe that he wasn't the only Stark who could.

 _For what purpose do you want the Kingslayer alive?_

Admittedly, the man hadn't _done_ anything to raise suspicion other than traveling by himself towards Winterfell. No sane man would make that journey alone in the winter or they'd take a boat to White Harbor. _Maybe there was a reason he couldn't take a boat? Why is he injured so? That wasn't wolf work._

No matter, it was clear to him that the Starks wanted him alive. The least he could do was assist him. They snuck into the small area of his camp. The horse eyed them warily, but Howland pointed one finger at the animal,someone was instantly at its side, patting it. The animal was thin and ragged and it didn't take more than a couple of apples to appease it into not making any noise.

The Kingslayer stayed asleep, but he was whispering only half-heard words. They knew he hadn't slept the night before, so they suspected he would be sleeping heavier than normal, but Howland could see he was shivering, even unconsciously in his sleep. Howland dared not touch him, but instead set a pack of rations that were enough to get him to Winterfell if he used them wisely.

He held out his hand back to one of his men and they passed him a bear pelt blanket. He shook it open and laid it carefully on the Kingslayer. Howland began to back away and that was the signal to once again disappear back into the frozen marsh.

 _Good luck, Kingslayer. You'll need it,_ Howland thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Hi all! Thank you all so much for reading this! I appreciate all reviews, favorites, and alerts put onto this fic! I try to update at least twice a week. =)**

 **Chapter 6**

Jaime's dreams were full of voices.

"Please return, brother, I love you. We were always meant to be together. That's what you said and now we are! Return to me!"

His mouth felt stuck and he drew back.

"You have honor, Ser Jaime. You have made atonement; I'm proud of you," Brienne's voice said. A warm feeling in his chest blossomed at Brienne's words. When had he last heard those words from anyone? It had to have been when he was a child, because he had done nothing but anger his father since he accepted the honor of joining the Kingsguard. He felt so childish for basking in the warmth that bloomed from them, but he couldn't help except cherish it.

"Beware, little brother. I will have you yet,"

 _Sching!_

Jaime jolted awake once more at the sound of the Mountain unsheathing his sword. Glancing around, he could see shadows emerging in the gray of the cold dawn. He made to get up, but his blankets felt peculiarly heavy. He saw the bear pelt blanket and shoved it off and glanced around around in panic. He saw the backpack next to him and noticed an extra two bags tied to his horse to replace the empty ones.

 _The crannogmen._ He was disturbed that they were able to sneak in and leave without him even so much as being awakened. The thought terrified him. _Looks like anything could murder you in the night,_ he lectured himself, but he knew it was futile. He had been cold and exhausted. There was simply no way for him to get the energy he needed by staying up and keeping watch and also survive the cold.

He snatched at the pack and dug through it, seeing dried meat and cheese, more than enough to get him to Winterfell. His stomach snarled sharply and it took all of his strength not to reach in and start eating. He still had a day's worth of his old rations, though they were going stale.

Once the bear pelt blanket was fully off him, he began to shiver immediately. He looked at it rather mournfully, wishing it was a cloak instead of a blanket, but he snatched it up all the same and spread it out over the back of the horse. At least one of them would be warm for the time being.

He finished putting his things together, when he turned to look into the woods. They were silent. He heard the squawk and flutter of ravens when he initially awoke, but otherwise there was nothing.

 _They're out there watching me now. They must be._ He took a cautious step forward and began to speak, but his voice was still little more than a croak. He coughed and cleared his voice as best he could, "I know you're out there. Tell Lord Reed to send Winterfell a letter so that they're expecting me. I bear them no ill will, save ill news. See that it reaches King Jon."

With that he prepared to mount his horse. It took a few tries because he still couldn't bear to put weight on his left shoulder, but he eventually managed to pull himself upright and strike down the road. He ate the last of his original rations on the run and looked hopefully down at the spare rations. He was just starting to get worried, but now that he was certain Cersei's men would no longer be a problem, he could put more of his thoughts into preparing for the rest of the trip.

 _Thanks to the crannogmen, I should have enough to get to Winterfell, but what would be the best way to stay safe?_ The north held no great love for the Lannisters and even if Jon were expecting him, that doesn't mean the rest of his realm was. He would have to tread the road carefully, but on the last trip to Winterfell he had been surprised at the wide, desolate spaces across the land. Was it no wonder the north had seemed all too bleak? Now he would have to contend with the fact that there were no hiding places. He would be forced to camp out in the open.

 _Well, the crannogmen didn't kill me in my sleep when they had every opportunity to._ He didn't quite understand why the crannogmen let him be. He knew, as a rule, that Lord Reed and his men didn't suffer bandits, but considering his family's feud with the Starks, he should be grateful they did indeed leave him to sleep through the night. Then they had the courtesy to leave rations

 _I did injure old Ned Stark for his wife capturing my brother._ Jaime winced and wished he could go back and shake some sense into his younger self. It hadn't gotten him killed then, but it could very well get him killed now. _Father always said I was too brash. How sweet to prove him right when they execute me._

It all seemed rather petty now, especially since Tyrion had used his wits and saved himself. And all Jaime had gotten was a year long captivity. He'd rushed off to save his brother for naught.

He drew the horse to a stop. They hadn't been traveling for more than half the day when they reached the _end_. The trees fell away onto a vast open plain of snow. He could just see the outlines of a road, but the snow was otherwise pristine and untouched. Moat Cailin loomed up on his right, a forbidden wreck, but beyond that was emptiness. He stared out after it longingly, but ultimately pulled his horse back. If he was going to cross this on even less sleep, then he must be prepared.

When he jumped down from his horse, his knees almost buckled beneath him and he held onto the saddle until he was sure his legs could hold him. He tied the horse up by a tree and then in the middle of the road he cleared away a circular spot, wincing as the snow bit through his gloves. He then went searching through the forest for wood. He was fortunate that the snow was quite frozen, because it left most of the tree limbs and logs scattered about dry. He scrounged for a little while until he had a nice pile.

He started a fire with the dry tender that had been attached to the horse's saddle, likely by the man who chased after him. When the fire was finally blazing, Jaime allowed himself to indulge in its heat. It washed over him in a way that made him feel like was sinking into a hot bath and it took all of his willpower not to simply curl up in front of the fire and sleep.

He cooked the various animals he'd caught in his traps. He had to throw out only one because the cold had frozen it solid rather than preserved it. Soon, though, his little area was smelling of sizzling meat. His stomach growled painfully, his mouth was dripping with saliva, and his good hand actually trembled. He was in much worse shape than he realized.

He allowed himself to eat one whole rabbit. Barristan Selmy had warned of the dangers of eating too much after long periods of famine, so he forced himself to slowly and precisely pick apart the meat from the bones and spend a minimum amount of time chewing. He ate until he was sucking on bones. His hunger eased, but it persisted. He was determined to save everything else.

Next he pulled out a small pot and began melting snow for water. He paid little attention to the accumulated dirt and leaves and twigs that ended up in his water and drank it all. The first pot, he nearly scalded himself with the first sip and had to put in the snow to allow it to cool off. He boiled two more pots of water and drank them all hot, feeling the warmest he had since he left King's Landing.

The most difficult task was filling up his water skins. He was afraid to venture too far into the woods, but he ventured forth even so, hoping that most of the bog that the Neck was famous for would have frozen over in this blight. The light was fading by the time he found a thinly frozen over stream.

When he got back to his fire, he laid out his bedroll as close to the fire as he dared and put on another log. Then he ate some more squirrel and drank some more water. When he took a piss, he could tell even in the evening light that his urine was clear rather than dark as it had been for the last week.

He retired to his bedroll in high spirits.

 _It shouldn't take more than week to get to Winterfell. If I have to sleep, I'll burrow into the snow. Those drifts are easily over my head and there should be enough room to protect myself and the horse._

Just before he fell asleep, he wondered about the crannogmen. They tended not to leave their swamp. Even when the War of the Five Kings had started, they stayed where they were and the Stark boy Robb seemed to accept that they would guard the way to the north. Would they leave the Neck to destroy the Others?

What was most troubling him was that they had aided him in his greatest hour of need. The wolves had attacked and killed the men chasing him and the crannogmen gave him food. _Do the Starks know I'm on my way?_ Cersei wouldn't bother sending any ravens to territories that no longer fell under her domain. It was entirely possibly she sent out no ravens at all in a bid to keep it under wraps that her own twin brother had betrayed her.

He was a mere bystander in this, but on this occasion his life was on the line. He had never had any interest in playing the game of thrones, so he had no cultivated connections and his only lifeline had been Bronn and the ravens Cersei sent him. Now he had to doubt whatever information Cersei had ever told him and now also wonder what else she had kept from him.

His thoughts were troubled as he drifted off to sleep and his dreams were troubled with them.

When he awoke the next morning, his left shoulder was stiff, but able to bear more weight. He thought about disrobing to evaluate his shoulder once more, but he was still feeling from warm the bear pelt and the remnants of the fire and had no desire to destroy that.

His head wound was a persistent dull ache and he could just barely see a shimmer of light out his right eye. The swelling was going down, slowly but surely, and that assessment was good enough for him.

He prepared to leave by restrapping everything to the horse. The animal was looking ragged. It moved stiffly and its hair was ruffled and dirty. "Just a little longer. All you have to do is get me to Winterfell," he mumbled, feeling ridiculous talking to an animal, but he was pleased to hear that the usual timbre was coming back to his voice.

Once more he stood at the edge of the forest. The weather had been kind to him lately - if that was at all possible - and not snowed for a few days. The clouds were still thick and what little sunlight that got through glared, causing a throbbing behind his one good eye. With any luck, though, this weather would persist.

He urged his horse forward and it took one cautious step and then another. He was on the last leg to Winterfell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Jaime felt like he must've been cursed sometime in life. Perhaps it was divine justice for all the terrible things he had done up to this point.

 _I admit it. I deserve to suffer, but haven't I suffered enough?_ He thought to himself, thinking of his stump which was painfully raw in the cold..

When he had initially passed Moat Cailin, the wind had suddenly whipped up and cut him across the face. At times it was so painful that he couldn't keep tears leaking down his face and that's when he decided to fashion a headscarf with his cloak. It was wound tightly so that the only exposed area of his face were his eyes. He struggled to keep the horse on track, because it too found the wind uncomfortable, but they needed to stay on the road. If it could be called that.

A path with noticeably less snow had been cut through the drifts, but the snow was still high enough that it reached the bottom of the horse's chest, so progress was slow as they forged a path.

Moat Cailin was still within view when evening fell, but Jaime kept the horse going through the night once more, stopping only for a handful of minutes to feed it and himself. Then he nudged it forward, but despite the cold he was having difficulty staying awake. His head would dip in exhaustion and then he'd snap back up only to find himself nodding off yet again in the next few minutes.

 _I only have a few more days to go. I can manage this,_ he urged himself. He fought back to wakefulness and pushed onward.

In the afternoon of the next day, when Jaime felt delirious from exhaustion, the snow started to fall and the wind seemed to pick up. He tried to keep going, but his good hand started to shake so badly that he finally had to stop. _I have to get out of his before I get frostbite,_ he thought.

When he jumped down from the horse, he had to hold onto it to keep his knees from buckling. He was shivering so violently he was afraid to let go of the horse, but eventually he did and staggered to the edge of the road towards a drift that now easily towered over the horse. He hesitated, but then with both his regular and metal hand, he began to carve out a hole in the side of drift.

Jaime tried to ignore the pain in his left hand from continuing to handle the cold snow. _If I don't get out of this wind, I really will die,_ he thought and pushed to keep going. The snow fell away easily and he was soon dripping with sweat as he continued to burrow further into the hole.

He had no idea how long he was clawing and pushing away snow, but his left hand screamed with the cold while the rest of his body simultaneously sweated and shivered. He pulled the horse in and the poor thing looked half-frozen to death.

"Don't you dare die on me, you stupid mongrel," he muttered. He unceremoniously pulled off the saddle bags, and horse blankets, and brushed the horse down. It was a way to keep it clean, but he hoped it would be enough to keep its circulation going. The very last thing he needed was to _walk_ the rest of the way to Winterfell.

Once he hooked up a feed bag to the horse, he turned to himself. The most important part of staying alive in the winter was to keep dry, but Jaime was hesitant. Even out of the wind, he could see his breath cloud up in front of him, but his shirt was soaked through and it clinged to his skin. He pulled out the spare clothes that he had and decided to take everything off and replace it as he did so.

First to go were his multiple layers on top, which included a leather vest, tunic, and undershirt. The cold instantly caused him to curl up on himself, but he forced his left hand to grab a rag and wipe himself down, and then grab for another tunic and undershirt. _Keep moving, keep moving,_ became a mantra. He was afraid if he stayed in one instance for just a second too long, then he'd simply freeze to death.

He made the changes. His feet were last and he decided to put on every single stocking he had, which numbered four so that his feet could stay warm and dry. He hung his gloves on the saddle so that they might at least drip dry of the snow he had shoveled with them. He practically flung his golden hand away from his body. It had started to create blisters of chill on his stump.

Finally, he laid down the canvas, then the horse blanket, and finally curled up under the bear pelt. He hugged himself and for the moment felt warm.

His exhaustion drags him under once more, but he is breathing to heavy. He thinks he falls asleep, but he's not sure. He becomes warm. Too warm. At some point he throws off the bear skin blanket given to him and his teeth instantly start chattering. It jolts him awake. He can tell it's night now. He can only just see the outline of the horse against the now gray of the snow. He tentatively steps over to the opening where he burrowed in, but snow has already covered it. It collapses instantly under his left hand when he tentatively pushes it, but the cold stings him like a viper and he instantly withdraws.

He can hear the howling of the wind and could see great big snowflakes swirling from the sky, continuing to bury him.

Jaime went back to his bed, feeling more than a little nervous. How long was this storm going to last? Blizzards could last for weeks!

 _I haven't got weeks,_ he thought mournfully as he glanced at his pack of rations. He hadn't eaten in sometime, so he took the opportunity to munch on the dried meats.

The tiny den he carved out wasn't terribly big, so he once again curled up under the bear skin blanket. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but he thinks he fell asleep. He gets flashes of memory: he sits up and blinks at the horse blearily, just barely noticing that it must be day. He blinks and he sits up and plucks at the blanket curiously; _Why is it covered in snow?_

Once again, the den grows warm. He's panting and kicks off the bear skin blanket once more. His skin feels too tight. He wants to peel off every layer of clothing if it means cooling off, but in a dark part of his mind, he _knows_ that's a bad idea. Instead he rolls in the snow.

He helps himself to rations again. He's really not sure how much he eats, but he swears he leaves the pack half full.

He throws himself back onto his makeshift pallet.

Jaime becomes afraid at one point when he snaps awake, again, and has no recollection of how much time had passed. _I'm losing my mind._ Once more, he tries to pace the cramped den, but he can't go more than two or three paces before he runs into the horse and has to turn back.

"Oh brother, I don't think I've ever seen you look more pathetic. Not even when you came back without your hand," Cersei sneers at him

"That's enough," Jaime hisses, clutching at his head. He _knows_ she's not there, but it's as if they're having another conversation in the map room.

"You could be safe and warm in King's Landing. You never listen. You never learn. If I didn't think it was somehow impossible, I would say you've become as obsessed with your honor as old Ned Stark was and look where it got him. You'll follow him into his grave. Mark my words."

"He's more like to crawl out of his grave now and kill me himself for all the wrongs I've done to his family," he mutters. "This had to be addressed. We could never be safe as long as the dead walks."

"That's right, Ser Jaime. You _know_ what's right. You've always known what's right. Don't let her twist your thoughts. _Making_ the right choice can be hard, but knowing what the right choices is often simple. This is the simplest." Brienne's voice said to him.

He could swear for even a moment that she was standing in her black armor he had gifted her, smiling, looking at him with her blues full of trust for _him_.

"I will help King Jon and Queen Daenerys fight the Others in the North," he began repeating to himself. He had to keep focused. He was there for a purpose, a higher purpose, the highest purpose that he had ever been called for. He would be there. He swore he would.

He went to the opening of the den that had closed up behind the horse yet again. Instead of using his left hand, he used his golden hand to brush away the topmost layer of snow. It was daylight and the snow was no longer falling.

 _How long has the blizzard been done?_ Jaime thought to himself, but the clear weather - albeit gray skies - galvanized him into action. He began scrambling around to put his items back together. The blankets were a crumpled mess and he shook them out to get the snow off them. New holes had been carved out of his snow den that he did not remember making. They were shallow, but numerous and they were oddly at head height.

He snatched up the pack full of rations and felt a cold chill shiver through him as the flap fell open and revealed nothing. He still had several days to Winterfell. He checked the saddlebags and found that the meat he'd cooked up several days ago was still there, but not for more than two meals.

 _How much time am I missing?!_ A latent panic was beginning to settle in. He still had three or four days until he reached Winterfell. How the hell would he manage that without rations? There would be no hunting on this snowy plain.

 _I have to try. I will fight the Others in the north._ He shoved his way out onto the road, if it could be called that with waist deep high snow _._

He mounted the horse and booted it on its way.

 _I will fight the Others in the north._

/\/\/\/\

Jon Snow breathed a sigh of relief when he finally rode through the gates of Winterfell with Ser Davos at his side. He was at the front of a very long train that comprised entirely of Daenerys' forces. Though he had his doubts about them, the Doth'raki and Unsullied, were tougher than he had suspected. They did lose a few to the cold, especially when the blizzard stalled them on the road for two days, but not as many as Jon had initially feared and since Daenerys had offered her forces, she had put the seamstresses in the Doth'raki to work making fur coats for all of her warriors.

Everyone in the courtyard cheered at seeing their king and he grinned at them, but his smile fell away all too quickly. It was so easy to forgo duty when the people who put their lives in your hands were so far away. He certainly hadn't been thinking about them when he'd gone to the queen's cabin and made love to her. _Didn't I swear I would never make a bastard?_

Of course, she said that she was unable to fall pregnant again after a witch had cursed her, but hadn't he suggested that the witch was wrong? He internally shook his head, but externally kept a pleasant smile on his face. Duty required him to be confident in all of his decisions, even if they were made in the heat of the moment. After all, he still had to tell everyone that he had bent the knee. He was certain that Sansa would prefer to leave that to him.

"Jon!"

Ghost ran up to him, wagging his tail like an excited puppy. He gave the wolf a few pats, but his attention was particularly drawn to the three figures standing at the front. Arya couldn't contain her grin at seeing, but she stayed by their sister for the formalities. Her hand rested on the little sword that now hung openly at her belt. She looked almost exactly as she had been when they last parted

Bran sat in his wheeled chair on the other side of Sansa, with a placid expression, like he wasn't really sure if it was Jon in front of him. The baby fat from his youth had long given away to a much narrower jaw, looking just as much a Stark as him.

Jon stopped at Arya first and stooped to hug her. She really hadn't gotten much taller, but then neither had he.

"I can't believe you're here. I thought you were dead for so long."

"I know," Arya replied, but there seemed to be a slight hitch to her voice and her eyes had a peculiar shine. "I've missed you. I've always been thinking about you."

"You'll have to tell me of how you came to be at Winterfell."

"I will, but it looks like you'll be busy for a while," Arya said, nodding as Queen Daenerys' entourage stepped into the courtyard.

"Yes, later." He moved on from Arya and kissed Sansa on both cheeks in way of greeting.

"Welcome back, your grace," Sansa replied, as formal as ever, but she hardly bothered to conceal her wide smile.

"Thank you, Sansa. Look at you. I knew you could hold down the fort."

She blushed prettily, but nodded.

He moved on to Bran.

"Bran! It's so good to see you! Samwell told me he let you north of the Wall! I was so worried about you."

Bran nodded at him. "And I you. It's good to be back in Winterfell."

Jon was perturbed at the toneless way Bran spoke. His little brother's expression did darken a fraction and he said, "I must speak with you before the night's over. Come to the Godswood after dinner. Alone."

"Of course," Jon said to him, more than a little mystified. He glanced at his sister's and they gave him small, sympathetic smiles.

"You'll have to forgive Bran, Jon. He's...the Three-eyed Raven. It's...I - don't know how to describe. I'm sure he'll make everything clear when you speak with him tonight."

"Has he already told you what he wants to tell me?"

Both women shook their heads.

He continued greeting some of the other people in the courtyard, including Sam who was practically overflowing with joy to see him. Sam hurriedly told him that he hadn't been getting anywhere with the Citadel and had finally decided to run off with all the books he could find on the north, northern legends, and hopefully the Others. Jon felt a pang that his friend hadn't been willing to be patient to become a maester, but with the rapid way things were changing it was probably for the best.

Jon moved back to the center to where Dany, Tyrion, Missandei and Varys patiently waited, although they shivered.

"Queen Daenerys, please meet my sisters Lady Sansa and Arya of House Stark and also my brother Lord Bran of House Stark."

The Starks had small pleasant smiles frozen on their face. Sansa stepped forward and said, "Winterfell is yours, your Grace." She waved at two servants nearby carrying salt and bread. Tyrion, Jon, and Varys had informed Daenerys about the guest right and although she found it queer, she acquiesced to the bread and salt.

"It is wonderful to finally meet the family that King Jon so often speaks of," Dany replied.

He knew that his siblings were aware of the change in their relationship, but they blessedly held their tongues. Sansa ordered the servants to find the warmest rooms in Winterfell for their guests and everyone departed.

Arya instantly fell into step beside Jon. "We have news we'd like to share with you now."

"Can it not wait?"

"It's sensitive and it concerns one of our newest guests," Arya replied, trying to imply the meaning of her sentence through her eyes.

"You're starting to act like Sansa. Speak plainly."

Arya sighed. "Jon, I have never agreed with the flowery language in which everyone speaks, but the recent incident with Lord Baelish has taught me to be more careful. We have to control the flow of information."

"What happened with Lord Baelish?" Jon asked sharply. Then he glanced around at all the various faces and he met Arya's eyes again. "What happened?"

Arya grinned. "Why Sansa, Bran and I brought him up on charges of treason."

Jon gaped. " _How_ did you manage that?! And without losing the Vale forces."

"Sansa deserves the credit. She handled the situation beautifully."

Jon blinked in shock. Never did he ever think he would hear Arya speak so highly of her sister. From the time Arya could walk and talk, she and her sister had been at odds, and as they grew older they tended to hiss and spit at each other like a pair of territorial cats.

"That still doesn't answer my question."

"After we tell you the latest news," Arya said and they entered the solar that Sansa was working in. Sansa immediately held a letter out to him, which he took tentatively.

 _To His Majesty King Jon Snow of the North:_

 _I, Lord Howland Reed of the crannogmen, write to inform you that the Kingslayer has crossed the Neck. He has suffered serious injuries and my men say that he was attacked on the road north. A pack of wolves decimated his enemy. I can only assume that Lord Bran sent the wolves to assist in his travels. I have provided him with enough rations to reach Winterfell._

 _Before we parted, the Kingslayer said, that he 'comes bearing no ill will, save ill news.' He made no trouble during his crossing. I have assigned two of my men to follow him and ensure that he makes it to Winterfell._

 _Your loyal servant,_

 _Lord Howland Reed of the crannogmen_

Jon read it over a second time and glanced up at his sisters. "The Kingslayer comes north _alone?_ "

They both nodded. "I saw him being attacked on the road when I was seeing through Nymeria. Queen Cersei wants her brother dead."

Jon's face darkened. "This must concern the north. Queen Cersei pledged her forces."

"Did she now?" Sansa asked, but it was more of a statement than a fact. "How many times do I have to tell you, Jon, Cersei is a snake who speaks out of both sides of her mouth. _Never_ take her word at face value."

"I was so certain she understood the ramifications of not uniting under a single banner! I saw the way she flinched when the wight ran at her! She was terrified!"

"Maybe she was. But she is the Queen. She doesn't even have to visit the battlefield! All of her forces stand between her and the threat. She has only one love and that is for power. Especially now that she wants her own brother and lover dead."

Jon had never felt such a powerful impulse of anger sweep over him. He needed a practice dummy to hit. Now.

"Jon, what about the Kingslayer?"

"What about him?" He snarled back at Sansa. Normally he would have felt guilty for such a harsh reaction, but it was clear by the way she remained unphased that even his uncontrollable rage couldn't bother her anymore.

"We received this two days ago. He shouldn't be more than a few days out at best. What do you want to be done with him?"

"I'll hear what he has to say. It must be good for him to abandon his sister."

 **Author's Note: Thank you all once more for the reviews and support! It's very encouraging.**

 **If this chapter is disjointed and confusing, it was meant to be. You're meant to be as confused as Jaime. Hypothermia can induce hot flashes and confusion/memory loss and he is much, much colder than he realizes.**

 **There will be other view points, like Jon's on occasion, but this fic isn't about him and his troubles. Despite how big the recent revelations are, this story isn't about Jon, it's about Jaime.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: The time has come. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 8**

Jaime was certain he was losing his mind. Time seemed ephemeral. He was losing hours and every time he seemed to snap out of his stupor and promise himself that he would stay awake, he would fall back into it again.

At one point, he awoke to find it was the middle of the night with a half moon shining down upon him and his horse. He briefly contemplated creating another den for the night, but when he tried to move one of his feet, he found it frozen to the stirrups. He noticed that the very act of breathing was painful, as if every intake of frozen air caused it to freeze his lungs. The space that was left uncovered by his headscarf felt raw and stung with each gust of wind.

 _If I get down to sleep, I'm not sure I'll ever get up again,_ Jaime thought. As it was, even atop the horse he wasn't sure he was going to make it.

Barristan Selmy spoke of strange things that happened to those who died of cold. They had a tendency to shed their clothes because a sudden feeling of being too warm. Many had a tendency to wander off on flights of fancy, apparently having lost their minds. In his moments of lucidity, he could easily recognize that he was suffering from late stages of exposure and if he didn't find Winterfell soon, it would claim him as surely as the Night King would cause his body to rise from the grave.

As before, he kept his left hand inside his shirt against his body. Every once in awhile he would pull it out to examine it. It shook like a leaf and was pale as milk, but so far none of the fingers showed signs of frostbite. He didn't bother looking at his feet. They were absolutely numb and he wouldn't be surprised if he lost a few toes.

The situation only seemed to go from bad to worse when he polished off the last of the meat he had. When he reached for the waterskins, he found them both to be frozen solid. He slumped in despair at first, but then he tentatively reached out with his hand to grab handfuls of snow. Eating snow was not as efficient as drinking water and it was highly discouraged, but he needed to drink.

At one point, he realized that his horse was no longer walking in chest deep snow. A wide furrow had been carved through the landscape. The wind and latest snowfall had softened it, but there was no mistaking that a massive train had gone through no more than a few days ago.

His heart jolted. _It has to be King Jon and Queen Daenerys arriving._ He was surprised that he wasn't too far behind them, but they had an exceptionally large party with the Doth'raki and Unsullied included. He glanced up and strained to see through the snowflakes falling around him. Was that Winterfell in the distance?

The horse wasn't doing more than walking, but surely and steadily it kept moving forward.

/\/\/\/\

Jon was in the middle of meeting with Daenerys when there was a knock on his solar.

"Enter," he said.

"Beggin' your pardon, your Grace, but the guards on the wall have spotted a lone rider."

Jon frowned thoughtfully for a moment and then the possible answer hit him like a lightning bolt: _Lannister_. Lord Reed's men had lost track of the Kingslayer in the blizzard from a few days past. As far as anyone was aware, he and his horse had simply frozen to death. He wouldn't have been the first nor the last.

"Thank you," Jon replied. "Lord Tyrion, I ask that you join me out in the courtyard. We'll continue this after supper."

The little Lannister cocked his head in curiosity, but nodded and followed.

It had been three days since Bran and Sam had told him about his true identity. Ever since then, he never felt quite himself as he walked around the halls. It was like the body he had come to be was detached from the specter of who he was and he was still trying to reconcile certain truths that were no longer truths. The blemish on Ned Stark's honor had been a false blemish and in fact could be construed to be even worse than fathering a bastard outside of the marriage vows. What he wouldn't give to go back to a life on the Wall at this point.

Bran insisted, however, that there was no escaping his identity. He was the heir to the Iron Throne and he would have to make a claim on it.

 _But I don't want the Iron Throne,_ he had wanted to shout to all and sundry, but Bran had remained passive as ever. He simply stated, "It's not a matter of want. It's a matter of duty."

That sentence pained him. The Stark family dedicated their lives to doing their duty and in some sense it had killed most of them.

He had yet to tell anyone about the new circumstances surrounding his identity. In the deepest part of his heart, he was _afraid_ to tell Dany. She had spent so long commanding him to bend the knee, telling him what she would do when she took the iron throne, but it was not meant to be for her. It was for him. _I could abdicate_ , he thought, like Maester Aemon, but in his heart of hearts, he knew he couldn't do that. The throne required a male Targaryen. He would be forced to do his duty, just as Bran said.

He didn't even want to consider the implications it left for their newly intimate relationship. She already had a look in her eyes that suggested she was wondering why he was no longer seeking her chambers, but she did not push. Yet.

Nowadays, he did everything he could to keep himself distracted and the arrival of the Kingslayer was a most perfect opportunity to create some distance between himself and Dany.

Atop the wall, they could see down the road leading to Winterfell to the King's Road and a horse was slowly, but steadily walking forward. Jon used a spyglass that Ser Davos had provided him to see if he could tell it was Lannister for sure, but the rider bore no sigil and if his clothes bore any notable colors, they were covered by the frost on them.

"Send two riders to bring him in."

Brienne and Pod volunteered, which Jon found remarkably fitting. Sansas had told him that Brienne and Jaime had history, that Jaime had sent Brienne to find and protect her. It made him wonder if Brienne had an inkling of who was on that horse, but she gave no sign and he said nothing.

Waiting for them to come in was painstaking. The rider's horse had not liked being diverted and when they did put it on the right course, it refused to go faster than its plodding. To Jon the horse looked on its last legs.

When the horse was finally brought in, a curious crowd had gathered in the courtyard. The man had some sort of head scarf wrapped around his head. The only skin that could be seen was an opening for the eyes, and they were shut.

"Did he say anything?" Jon asked.

"No, your grace. It's unclear whether he's alive or not," Brienne replied.

Jon went up to shake the man's arm.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?"

"I'll be fine," Jon said and continued. He pulled a little harder, but the man tipped and fell out of the saddle. There was a great cracking sound as the ice that had frozen his boots to the stirrups had given away. Despite hitting the ground, the man didn't even so much as flinch. A sudden chill fell over Jon that the Kingslayer might have arrived just one day too late. He reached over and ripped the head scarf away.

"Jaime?!" Tyrion cried out and rushed forward, throwing himself onto his brother. "Jaime, wake up! Please wake up! Don't be dead."

Jon was appalled at the state of the Kingslayer. Lord Reed had mentioned injuries, but this was considerably more extensive than he expected. The tips of his ears were blackened from the cold. The right side of his face had a fading red and purple bruise. Just above it, a gash several inches long went along his head and dried blood still caked his face. His left eye had a more tame bruise that had faded to green. There was still a dark bruise at his throat that was also just starting to fade. Most worryingly, his lips were tinted blue. He removed his glove and placed a hand over the Kingslayer's mouth and felt a weak breath of air.

"He's still alive!" Jon turned and pointed to a servant girl. "You, prepare a room for our guest."

"But, your grace - apologies - but there are no more rooms left," An older woman had stepped forward and curtsied, looking anxious as she spoke.

"My room," Brienne barked. "Pod, grab his feet." She stepped around and wrapped her arms around his torso, lifting him up like it was no trouble.

"Fetch a Maester to Brienne of Tarth's room," Jon said, not willing to argue with the maid, though he was surprised that she had taken action even when he hadn't ordered it. Tyrion hurried to follow them.

He didn't fail to notice the resentful eyes that followed them. No one here had any love for the Kingslayer except Lord Tyrion and Lady Brienne. He would have to make sure that he was closely guarded by those who wouldn't hurt him, which was another reason why he hadn't rejected Brienne's suggestion.

Once they put the Kingslayer on her bed, Brienne didn't even wait for the Maester and directed Pod to start stripping him. Every bit of the Kingslayer's clothing was covered in frost. The leather bindings were frozen and it took precious minutes to undo them.

Pod was wrestling his boots off and then his stockings.

"He's got a lot of stockings on," Pod muttered as he pulled off layer after layer.

"Impressive. I wouldn't expect a southron knight to know how to protect himself against the cold," Jon said.

"He was in the Kingsguard," Tyrion replied tersely. "They have to know how to survive every situation in order to best keep the king safe."

Jon didn't even bother bringing up the fact that his brother had murdered a king. That was old ground, long trodden on, and admittedly the Kingslayer hadn't been responsible for the last two kings' deaths at least.

Jaime actually cried out as Brienne tried to remove the cloak and tunic, but it sounded like it got stuck in his throat and was little more than a gurgle. Jon stepped in to help. Another large bruise stained his shoulder and Jon was shocked that he could count every single one of the Kingslayer's ribs. Brienne moved to take the Kingslayer's pants off just as the Maester came in and he gaped at Brienne.

"My Lady, this is most improper!"

She ignored him however and didn't stop until she had removed the last scrap of clothing and tossed it on the floor. Then she grabbed the heaviest blanket and brought it up to his chin, tucking him in like a mother would her child.

The Maester was annoyed, but he started examining him. "He's not shivering. He's in the late stages of cold. We need to warm him up quickly. It's best with body heat."

"Who's volunteering? I would, but I'm not sure I'm large enough to be adequate," Tyrion said, staring between the maester and Jon.

"I will," Brienne said. She started undoing her armor and Pod began helping her.

"My Lady, please, this is already improper enough."

"Who else is willing?" Brienne replied sharply and Jon waved her away.

"Maester, this man isn't exactly well-loved by anyone in the north. If she's willing to help, I will not forbade it," Jon replied and he looked significantly at Brienne in the hopes she'll get the next message: _I will prevent people from besmirching your honor as well._

The maester tutted and kept examining him. He examined the head wound closely and poked at it, eliciting the barest of flinches. "He's lucky this wasn't infected. As it is, it's clotted and needs no stitch. When he bathes, he could dislodge the scabs and start it bleeding all over again, but I can't see this being life threatening. Aside from his skin being clammy, all of the rest of his injuries are healing well, but I don't think we'll be able to save the tips of his ears. Those are far gone." The maester turned to Jon and said, "Please summon someone to bring boiled wine and a knife."

He continued examining, paying special attention to the Kingslayer's hands and feet. His golden hand was removed and the maester examined the stump. The skin was healed, but the edge of it was raw and blistered from the chafing of the metal hand. His left hand was spared since he'd had the good sense to keep it close to his body, but the tips of his toes showed obvious signs of frostbite.

"I don't think we'll need to amputate any toes. We might be able to save them, but that requires rubbing them to get the blood flowing in them again. Any - "

"I'll do it," Tyrion instantly stepped forward.

"If you're all so keen on keeping my modesty, then I ask you to avert your eyes," Brienne suddenly said, looking around at them all with a fierce expression, but there was a hint of a blush on her cheeks. Now that her armor was off, she had just to pull off her tunic and trousers.

All the men in the room, turned away. Tyrion kept focused on his brother's toes, Pod stood looking out the window, Jon had turned his back and the maester strictly kept his head down until she was safely under the covers.

The servant then showed up with a bowl of water and a knife. The maester cleaned the knife in the bowl and quickly and concisely made the cuts to the dead parts of the Kingslayer's ears.

"How much are you going to cut off?" Tyrion asked. There was an edge to his voice like he was the older brother protecting his little one.

"Until the blood starts flowing," the maester explained quietly. Jaime grimaced and tried to move his head away.

"My Lady, please try to hold him in place for me, will you? I don't want to cut off more than I need to."

Brienne reached up and grabbed his head and began whispering in his ear. Jon couldn't hear what she was saying, but then the Kingslayer's eyelids fluttered.

"Brienne, 's sat you?"

"Yes, Ser Jaime, I'm here."

Jon stepped in closer. The Kingslayer's voice was barely more than a whisper. He grimaced once more and said, "'m sorry. I failed."

"What are you talking about?"

"I made a promise."

"What promise?"

"That I would ride north and fight the Others."

Jon, who had leaned in to hear, stood bolt upright. He'd never thought he'd hear the Kingslayer of all people obsess about a promise he made. His opinion of him went up a few notches.

Brienne continued pleading with him, but Jon leaned over and said, "Kingslayer? Kingslayer?" At Brienne's withering look, he said again, "Ser Jaime? Can you hear me?"

"He's not lucid, your grace. I doubt he has any idea what's going on," the maester said, using bandages to soak up the blood at his ears. Once he finished with cutting the tips of both ears he decided to wrap his whole head. Before doing that, he did take the opportunity to clean most of the blood from Jaime's old head wound from his face.

Once the maester was done wrapping Jaime's head, he stood up and said, "There is little more that can be done for him. He needs rest. I would ask that you all, save for the Lady, vacate the room. My Lady, I will have a pitcher of wine brought up. He will need fluids when he wakes."

Jon turned to Pod. "I want to be told the instant he wakes up. Understood?"

"I do as well," Tyrion said, both of them giving Pod significant looks.

The boy straightened up and nodded. "As you command, your grace, Lord Tyrion."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: It's nice to hear so many of you were excited about the latest chapter! Thank you all for your reviews and favorites, but most importantly for reading! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations as well. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 9**

The first thing Jaime realized as his senses came back to him was that he was _warm_. The cold felt like a passing nightmare. He tried opening his eyes, but everything was a blur. He settled back and inhaled deeply, feeling a tightness to his chest that could either be the result of a deep sleep or a sickness. Something warm and soft shifted next to him.

His heart jolted and he tried to scramble away, but he got tangled, and fell head first off the bed.

"Ser Jaime, it's me!"

It took him a minute to focus, but eventually Brienne's face came into view.

"Brienne?" He gave a sigh of relief and started to disentangle himself, but was surprised to find his limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated. Eventually, he managed stand up to climb back into bed, but he glanced down to find himself nude. He glanced up at Brienne with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk.

She was turned away, her face stained red.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" He asked. There was a single bed in the room complete with a merrily crackling fire, animal skin rugs, and a plethora of wooden furniture. As he would have expected of the north, there was not a single bit of gold to be found. "I must've made it to Winterfell."

"You did, though you were more than half dead. I truly thought you were dead."

He grimaced and quickly climbed back into bed, once he started to shiver in the chill air. "Did you find me?"

"Your horse almost walked right past Winterfell. It was Pod and I who fetched you. If you'd passed by in the night, no one would've seen you and you would've died," she said. "To your great fortune, King Jon was expecting you."

"I told the crannogmen to let him know."

"You spoke with Lord Reed?'

"More like shouted at the trees and presumed they were nearby. What happened to my horse?"

"Put down. The poor beast couldn't be saved."

"That makes it three horses that died carrying me to Winterfell."

"Three?!" Brienne asked, looking at him with alarm.

"I ran one horse to death, my second was shot out from under me, and the third died of exposure."

"You had a horse shot out from under you?"

"You stripped me, did you not?" Jaime said, unable to contain his grin at the way Brienne continually blushed. "I'm sure you saw that lovely bruise on my shoulder."

"I wondered what could have caused it."

"Now you know." He glanced over at her curiously. "How is it you come to be in my bed?"

"It's _my_ bed. The dragon queen and her party took up all the guest rooms in Winterfell. I volunteered my room. You were suffering from exposure and the best way to get you warm was body heat and…"

"You were the only volunteer."

"It was either me or Pod."

"I no doubt would've given the poor lad a heart attack as soon as I opened my eyes."

"He means well. Speaking of Pod, I was ordered to send for King Jon the moment you awoke."

"Far be it from me to interrupt your orders," Jaime with a sly grin that he used to paper over his nervousness. It was simple enough. All he had to do was tell Jon Cersei's plans, but that still didn't change the crimes he had committed against the Starks. Or in one case...the perceived crime. He undoubtedly shouldered the blame for the slaughter at the Twins despite knowing nothing about it until it was too late.

"Ser Jaime, I would ask you to avert your eyes."

He gave her a wry look. "I've seen you with even less on than now." She still glared at him until he rolled his eyes and said, "Fine."

He rolled away and kept his eyes closed. She sent Pod away at the door and then said, "I'm getting dressed. I imagine King Jon would prefer to speak with you alone."

"Of course," he said, keeping his back turned to her.

"Alright, you can turn. Do you need anything?"

He didn't answer. She had not bothered putting her armor on and just wore a tunic and trousers. She had just reached the door when he saw the pitcher on the night stand and reached for it. _Good gods, I can't even hold a pitcher of wine,_ he thought as it shook in his hand.

"Here," Brienne said, snatching it up and pouring it into a cup for him. "Don't look at me like that. You were on the Stranger's door not half a day ago. Of course you need time to recover your strength. When Jon arrives, I'll head down for some food for us."

"Us?"

"Well, of course. You may be awake now, but that doesn't mean you're not still recovering. I'll be back."

"Are you sure that's sanctioned by the Maester?"

She sighed. "I don't know why I put up with you."

He grinned at her, but he could already feel the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids. He took a sip of the wine and sighed in contentment at the warm feeling that flooded his belly. He laid back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

The next thing he knows he's being prodded in the shoulder and he snaps awake. King Jon's hand was hovering around his shoulder and he holds it up in defense. "You fell asleep again," Jon said, amusement coloring his voice.

"I didn't get much in the way of sleep the last week," Jaime replied irritably.

"You said you had news to deliver. I assume it pertains to the _alliance_ Queen Daenerys and I formed with Queen Cersei," Jon said in a clipped tone.

"Yes. Cersei has no desire to ally with you. She'd rather the monsters fight each other. Her words," Jaime said. The anger he had felt at her betrayal of not only Jon Snow's and the dragon queen's trust but his simmered behind his eyes.

"I thought I made it clear - "

"You couldn't have been clearer. She's delusional," Jaime snapped. "I told her the threat of the Others was too great to put petty politics over it, but she wouldn't hear it."

Jon sighed. "Is that all?"

"No," Jaime replied. He could feel his throat getting sore and wondered briefly if it had to do with how little he talked on the way up here. He took another sip of wine. Jon kept eye contact. No longer was he the shy and irascible bastard moping around Winterfell, but a hardened commander who knew nothing about the pettiness of politics. Maybe simplistic life in the Night Watch was exactly what Jaime needed. Too bad it came with the caveat of never leaving the wall and never taking a woman again.

"Euron Greyjoy didn't flee King's Landing in terror of the wight. He and Cersei plotted behind my back. He's sailing to Essos to ferry the Golden Company back across the sea."

Jon muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like 'never trust a Greyjoy,' but Jaime didn't press him on it.

"Cersei intends to take back the lands Queen Daenerys took from her, but I don't think she has any intention of opening a second front on you. She made it quite clear that she wished to fortify her position and watch you and the dragon queen battle it out with the Others. But if I'm being honest - " Jon narrowed his eyes at him "- I don't know what goes through Cersei's mind these days. She's lost to me."

Jon was quiet for a moment as he seemed to analyze him.

It irritated Jaime. There was no possibility of winning any kind of staring contest when his head was foggy and his body so exhausted that he threatened to drift off after every passing second.

"Look, King Snow, I am far too tired to lie. If you don't mind, I'd like to go back to sleep."

"You of all people should understand my skepticism. You haven't been the kindest to my family in the past."

"I was not the only transgressor in the Stark-Lannister feud," Jaime replied, his eyes sparking and his tone hard. "What happened to your family was atrocious, but I had no knowledge of it until it was too late. I have done everything I can to make amends since."

"My sister Sansa did say that Lady Brienne was sent by you. I rather doubt I'd have a sister were it not for her. Lady Brienne also informed me that you took Riverrun without shedding any unnecessary blood, so I believe you...to a point. I will judge your fate when you have recovered."

Jaime stayed quiet. He didn't trust himself to not say something cutting. He had no status now, unlike Jon Snow who was _king_. It was by the bastard's good grace that he wasn't dead yet. He owed him. After being saved by wolves on the way up, he also owed another Stark. His life was in their hands.

"What about Queen Daenerys?"

"As you are a guest under my roof, she has agreed to allow me to deal with you. Your brother is waiting just outside, shall I send him in?"

"I can't make any promises I won't fall asleep on him," Jaime muttered.

Jon opened the door and Tyrion squeezed past him as he walked out. He immediately grabbed the pitcher of wine and poured his own glass.

They stared at each other a moment. Jaime _wanted_ to be angry with Tyrion for murdering their father, but the pain had long dulled and in his exhaustion anger seemed hopelessly futile.

"For as long as I live, I better not hear you doing something as crazy as trying to travel to Winterfell, alone, in the winter."

"I didn't have much choice. Cersei threatened to kill me with the Mountain. I needed to put as much ground between me and her as I could."

Tyrion looked troubled to hear that. "If you're lost to her then…"

"She's alone. Tyrion, she's not who she used to be."

"You and I have very different perspectives on our sister."

Jaime's expression darkened. "I'm not so certain you didn't have the right of it all along."

"Love often makes us blind."

"Don't make excuses for me," Jaime snapped. "I _knew_ what she was as soon as she blew up the Sept of Baelor. I murdered Aerys for _ordering_ the city to be burnt to the ground. But...I couldn't...I..I had nowhere to go."

"And no matter where you went, she would've dragged you back to her," Tyrion finished. "I don't blame you."

Jaime fell silent. He'd never admit it aloud, but he felt lost without Cersei. Their whole damned lives, Cersei had talked about how they were two halves of one soul and destined to be together. They came into the world together and they would leave together. He began to doubt Cersei's devotion once he came back without a hand. He had grown smaller in her eyes; he was now less than perfect.

Despite the clear sign, he had continued to follow her like some lost puppy. He cringed just thinking about it. If he had an inkling that Cersei was a witch, he would think that she had bewitched him, but it had been his own damn need for gratification.

It was easy to see it now that he was separate from her influence. She had controlled him with sex their whole lives. She had never been as devoted to him as he was to her. He was just another plaything, an attack dog not unlike the Mountain. The very thought made him nauseated and he wanted to throw up, but he swallowed the bile back down.

"How do you feel now without your ears?"

Jaime blinked and looked back to Tyrion. "What did you say?"

"Your ears - "

Jaime immediately reached for his ears with his left hand, finally feeling them against the bandage. Tyrion laughed and he glared.

"I will forever remember that look."

"Not funny. I don't need to lose anymore appendages."

"The Maester did cut away the tips of your ears. They were too frostbitten."

Jaime eyed him warily. "Just the tips?"

"I was here when he did. I massaged your feet to make sure he didn't have to remove your toes either. You're welcome. I just about lost all the wine I drank they were so smelly."

"I'm sure that would have been a tragedy."

"Not really. Arbor Gold doesn't exist up here, so at the very least it would've been cheap wine."

They fell into silence again. Jaime was blinking slowly, still struggling to fight the exhaustion. Brienne was supposed to be back with food soon and he hoped he stayed awake long enough to fill himself. He hadn't gotten a good look at his body, but he had felt the way his clothes had hung off him in the end.

Tyrion seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for the good humor in his face dried up and he said, "I'm glad you're alive." He climbed up onto the bed, just high enough to place a kiss on Jaime's brow.

Jaime smiled back. "I'm glad you're alive too."

"I'll come back tomorrow. Sleep, brother."

"After I eat," Jaime commented. "I'm sure the wench is at the door. Mind letting her in?"

Tyrion gave him a strange look, but opened it and true to Jaime's word, Brienne and Podrick were standing outside bearing a tray of food and drinks.

Brienne entered and set a tray down on a table in the room.

Jaime made to get up, but Brienne said, "You stay right there! You're eating in bed."

"But I don't want to spill on the covers."

"Then you better eat carefully," Brienne said through gritted teeth.

Jaime only smiled innocently up at her, but it disappeared when she handed him a bowl of soup. "Is that all?"

"Maesters orders."

"I can stomach better than a bowl of broth."

"Maesters orders," Brienne repeated.

He scowled at her but picked up the spoon and started eating. Now that he had been without his dominant hand for a few years, he had finally mastered the silverware with his left hand, but it was still awkward. Pod and Brienne sat at the table and ate. Pod would glance around awkwardly every once in awhile looking everywhere but at Jaime, but Brienne kept her eyes firmly on her food, acknowledging nothing else. When she and Pod had finally gone through their meal, she glanced over to Jaime to find the bowl empty on the night stand and he was buried back beneath the sheets, sleeping on his stomach, his head turned away from them.

Brienne felt a pain in her heart as she looked at him sleeping peacefully. She remembered heaving a quiet sigh of relief when his eyes had fluttered open in the bed. He had been so cold that when she curled up in bed beside him, it felt more like hugging a corpse. She thanked the new and the old gods that he had not succumbed to the deathly chill of the north in spite of his hardships.

She dismissed Pod and once more began stripping out of her clothes, putting on a nightshift to protect her modesty, though she did not fear it being take from her by Jaime Lannister. When she climbed into bed, she looked carefully at him. His face had been freshly washed by the maester, but it was stained by the bruises that were still fading. After his period of starvation, his face was too thin, but it was at least for now hidden by an unkempt beard. His eyes appeared sunken and were bruised from the lack of sleep.

She couldn't keep herself from brushing away the hair at his forehead. It was greasy and dirty from his trip, but she felt only relief at touching his unclean, albeit warm skin.

"I'm glad you're alive," she whispered to no one and laid down to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes: Wow, I'm blown away by the response! Thank you all so much for your reviews and support! This was a difficult chapter to write and so it's fresh off the presses. Please forgive any silly typos.**

 **Chapter 10**

When Jaime woke up, he was surprised to see that Brienne was turned towards him. Although she lacked the physical beauty of most women, the soft light cast by the fire and the peacefulness of her sleep cast her in an angelic light. He didn't admire her for long. Sweat beaded his forehead and he could tell his throat was violently raw just by breathing. He swallowed and winced at the sharp pain. He hadn't been sick often, but even he could tell he was burning up. The air crackled in his lungs and he turned away from her in time to violently cough, putting his hand entirely over his mouth to keep the sound quiet.

He got out of bed to pour himself a glass of wine and tried to ignore the way his left hand violently shook. As soon as he poured it, he downed it and winced some more as it did very little to soothe his throat.

 _Enough wine. I need water._ Jaime scrounged around the room and found his clothes freshly laundered, sitting neatly folded on top of a dresser. He dressed quickly. He was dismayed at the way his shirt felt like a tent on his shriveled body and he had to use the last hole in his belt to keep his pants from falling. _Did it really only take a month to get this weak? What good will I be fighting the Others? Certainly no good, if I don't get this fever treated_.

He glanced over at Brienne, considering waking her. It was the hour before dawn. The only people awake beside himself were the servants in the kitchen, preparing the castle denizens' breakfast and the last rotation of the guard. She had already done so much for him, that he decided he could do without her. All he needed was a pitcher of water.

When he opened the door, he glanced down the hallway and found it dark and dreary. Torches were lit on every third pillar, so the light was dim, but he could just see the characteristic opening of a staircase a short ways down. The instant he closed the door, a wall of chill air hit him and he once again began shivering violently, even as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead.

He hadn't bothered putting on his boots and was glad for the way his footsteps were muffled on the carpet. He hoped to avoid any of the late patrols still going through the halls, but for the moment he found the area deserted. It was at the same time a relief and troubling.

As he looked down the stairs, a wave of dizziness hit him so hard he had to grab the banister to keep upright. When it did not pass after a minute, he started to slowly make his way down. He was so focused on getting down the stairs that he didn't see the approaching lantern until the light fell on him.

"What do you think you're doin', Kingslayer?"

He blinked up at the light. It was difficult to see around the glare, but he eventually decided that they could only be guards.

When he opened his mouth, the sentence he was going to say got stuck, and caused a violent rack of coughs to paralyze him for a moment. So next he was able to draw in breath, he croaked out, "Water."

They were finally close enough that he could see their faces. They were Valemen by the Falcon and Moon on the front of their chests and they were grinning at him with unpleasant smiles.

 _I should've awakened Brienne. When will I learn?_ He hated to lean on her - well, anybody - like a crutch, even when he was clearly in a weakened state. He'd had to swallow his pride regarding his sword arm, but expecting to be waited on hand and foot was just insulting. He really didn't think it would be any great obstacle to get water, but he forgot that he was in Winterfell and it would almost certainly require him to run a gauntlet. He moved away from the banister he'd just been clutching and stood up straight. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, his head pounded in tune with his heart, and the heat from his fever made him feel like he was burning like the summer sun.

"Water, eh? What are ya willin' to do for it?"

"Suck my cock, Kingslayer. I promise you'll get all the water you need."

He said nothing, but his frown deepened.

"Nothin' to say, cocksucker?"

"Water, please," Jaime finally said, holding onto the words like they were his only lifeline. More sweat trickled down his cheek.

"I think he's cryin', don't you?"

"Not sure what he's cryin' about. The hospitality of Winterfell not sweet enough for you?"

"I think he misses bein' his sister's bedwarmer. Can't find another cunt to stick his dick into. No honorable woman here would be willin' to let him wet his dick."

"You forgot Brienne the Beauty. Isn't he sharin' a bed with her?"

"She's clearly not as honorable as I thought she was."

"Can't have honor when you're the Kingslayer's whore."

Jaime launched himself at the man and even in his weakened state he got a few good punches in before the other guard smacked him over the head with his blade. He crumpled to the floor, exhausted but smoldering with rage. He scrambled to reach his feet again, but the guard kicked him in the stomach. All the air in his lungs left him with a 'oof'. He struggled to suck in more air and at the same time both of the guards began raining blows down on him. He covered his head with his hands and curled up into a ball.

"Stop right now, or you shall be explaining your crimes to King Jon with a mouthful of broken teeth."

Jaime let his arms fall away and he beamed up at Brienne who was standing just at the foot of the stairs with Oathkeeper held out in front of her. She appeared to have dressed in a hurry, for she only had a tunic and a pair of trousers on. Jaime wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her look more beautiful or courageous in a state of half-dress. She didn't take her eyes off them, but reached down with her free hand to grab him by the collar and pull him back towards her.

"Go hide behind your cunt's skirts, Kingslayer."

Jaime saw red and stepped forward once more, but Brienne's left hand caught him in the chest.

"For the gods' sake, Jaime, no!"

 _I won't let anyone call you anything less than the goddamned most honorable knight this world has ever seen_ , was what he wanted to say. What came out instead was another hacking fit that forced him to bury his face in his elbow, but he glared at the men all the same, fully aware that he appeared about as threatening as a kitten.

"What are you doin' protecting that honorless shit?! What has he ever done for anyone but himself?"

"He's saved my life for starters," Brienne retorted. Even though Jaime was now safely at her side, she kept her sword in place. "I have it on good authority that Ser Jaime has more honor than the two of you will ever have."

"I've had enough of this!"

One guard spat at Brienne's feet and pulled his sword. He was just raising to slash down and she was just dropping down into her stance when a voice rang out, "What is the meaning of this?"

The guards immediately fell back and stood up straight, "M'lord Hand."

Jaime turned on shaking legs to see an older man with graying hair and beard descending the stairs. It took a moment to place him as the man at Jon's side in the dragon pit for the demonstration of the wight. He had found it particularly interesting that the former hand to Stannis would find himself at the behest of the bastard Jon Snow, but when he tried to express such things to Cersei, she had waved them off as unimportant.

"Ser Davos," Brienne said, standing up to nod at him.

Ser Davos' eyes raked over Jaime. He was standing upright and maintained eye contact, but there was no hiding the tremor in his body and sweat continued to pour down his face. As soon as the man's eyes drifted away from him, he once more grabbed for the banister to help keep him upright.

Ser Davos nodded at Brienne and he turned to the guards. "Explain."

"We caught that slimy cunt sneakin' around," the guard said, waving his sword in Jaime's direction.

"Did you find out what he was after?"

"Nay, he tried to run."

"We grabbed him though."

Jaime groaned and rolled his eyes. Ser Davos looked at him and then back at the guards. "Tried to run, hmm? I imagined that was about as difficult as pack of dogs being sicked on a hobbled horse. The man can barely stand."

One man opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out and eventually he snapped it shut and focused his eyes elsewhere.

"Need I remind you that Ser Jaime Lannister is a _guest_ in this house." The guards' eyes widened. "Not a prisoner. He has partaken of food here and is under King Jon's protection. Only the Freys up to this point have broken guest right. Would you have House Stark follow the Freys' example?" At this point, Ser Davos' voice was a deep growl. "Report to King Jon after breakfast. He will punish you as he sees fit. Dismissed."

Once they'd marched off, he rounded on Brienne and Jaime. Brienne didn't flinch, but she did sidle closer to Jaime in a protective manner. If Ser Davos noticed, it didn't show.

"Now, want to tell me why you were out of bed?"

Jaime swallowed painfully once more and croaked, "Water."

"You do look like you have the fever and I've seen toddlers more sure of foot than you. I'll call the maester, but first let's get you some water."

A maid handed them a pitcher full and Jaime downed the first cup like he was in the desert dying of thirst. He followed the first one with a second easily and Jaime relished the way the fresh chill of the water doused his burning insides. He sipped at the third cup, but felt sated.

When he finally felt collected, he turned to Ser Davos and said, "Those guards called Lady Brienne my whore. I want them punished."

"Ser Jaime," Brienne scoffed at him. "I knew what I was doing when I allowed you to share my bed. They won't be the first nor the last."

"They have no right to disrespect you," Jaime snapped. He suffered another round of coughs that left him breathless. He sipped at his water again and vowed to remain quiet.

"He has a point, my lady. However, in my experience, trying to squash rumors makes them more persistent," Ser Davos replied. "I'm afraid there's little the King nor I can do in regards to protecting your honor, but I will certainly bring the issue up to him. We cannot have ladies openly disrespected in this House."

"Thank you, Lord Hand," Brienne mumbled, but her words seem unconvinced that they would do anything.

There was a knock on the door and the maester came shuffling in. His chain clanked in a familiar way as he bustled over to Jaime. He tutted. "Oh dear, you have indeed fallen with the fever." He glanced at the pitcher of water and nodded approvingly, "Very good. Water is best for you right now. I would also recommend a bath. It will help you relax."

Jaime merely nodded at the maester, once more taking a sip of the water.

"How goes your throat?"

"Painful," Jaime rasped.

"I'll have a pot of tea brewed with some honey sent up with your breakfast. That will soothe your throat, but only after a bath." He then turned to a maid and ordered that a bath be drawn for him.

Jaime finishes his third cup of water and gets to his feet. The hall had been slowly filling around them and every single new occupant stared at him with dislike and suspicion. He'd rather Brienne not get in another tussle on his behalf - because the Seven only knows he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight - and starts to head out, but then asks, "I know the Northerners aren't so savage that they wouldn't have a privy around here."

She slaps him upside the head for the backhanded comment. Despite the pain in his throat, he chuckles.

"This way."

Once he had relieved himself, she led him to the bathing chambers and stepped inside. He began stripping the moment he entered, removing the now oversized shirt. It was only when he'd let his trousers fall to his ankles that he glanced up curiously at Brienne who stood facing the door, her eyes pinched shut.

"I'm surprised you're still here."

"I swore to the King that I would keep my eye on you. Next time you decide to be a child and need a cup of water, you'll wake me."

He frowns at her. "I didn't want to disturb your sleep. Besides, getting water should've been no hard task." His good humor has faded with her chastisement. He tries not to sulk like the child she accuses him of being, but he finds his current weakness unbearably frustrating.

When he climbs into the tub, he sinks into it until the water is over his head. The water is warm and it takes the chill out of his bones. Ever since he got a drink, he no longer felt like the sun was burning through his skin and the gentle lapping of water on his skull is soothing and causes his attention to drift. It's almost a shame when he finally comes up for air.

He noticed Brienne had taken a few steps towards him, but appeared to have relaxed when he broke the surface again. "You need not hover, Lady Brienne. I think I said once before it would be unbefitting for a Lannister to drown in a bathtub. I'm in no danger of fainting this time.

He spends a great deal of time lathering up and washing. _My first bath in a month. I never thought I'd go so long without a bath again after Brienne returned me to King's Landing._ He spends extra time on his hair, knowing that it's been caked in blood for some time.

When he finally finishes, he pulls on his breeches and then goes to stand in front of the looking glass and he stares. His head wound is now a jagged scar that starts at the edge of his eye and disappears into his hair. The bruises at his left eye and throat are almost gone. There's a new bruise developing on his cheek and yet another blossoming around his ribs. Thankfully, the one on his ribs only ached dully, indicating that the guards he'd encountered had at least failed to hurt him any further. He sneers as he examines his wasted body.

 _I took too long getting here and now I'm of no use. Maybe Jon Snow's old gods will be kind enough to put me out of my misery._ He's almost surprised at the dour thoughts, but Brienne's chastisements highlighted once more how sorely lacking he is now, a mere shadow of his former self from when he was Kingsguard to Robert Baratheon.

He tries to push away his thoughts and focused on his beard. He severely disliked facial hair because it always left him feeling itchy and he didn't like the way food and drink could get caught in it. But up in the north, he was going to need all the protection from the cold he could get, so he chose to sculpt it more carefully instead of shaving it off entirely.

He picked up a shaving blade and scowled as it trembled in his left hand. _I'll be damned if I don't look more presentable_.

"Ser Jaime - "

"What?" He snapped at Brienne, looking back at her.

"I can send for a servant -"

"I don't need a servant."

It takes time but he does it, too focused on doing it right to look at Brienne, who is looking at him with a pained expression.

He's exhausted by the time he's done and sweat has once more accumulated on his forehead. He deliberately ignores Brienne as he walks through the door and goes back to their room to find a tray of stew complete with a pair of rolls rests at the small table, having just been brought in a few minutes ago by the steam coming off it. When they eat, he refuses to look at her.

She attempts to make conversation by talking about the training and the news that has since come in, but he merely grunts in response. When he takes a sip of the tea mixed with honey, it does soothe his throat and that lessens his anger.

His irritation flares once more as the best thing he can do is return to bed once more and rest. He's even more annoyed when Brienne doesn't join him, knowing full well he doesn't need her body heat to keep him alive and instead has a fire burning in his own head.

Sleep doesn't come easy, but he keeps his eyes closed as he lays on top of the covers. He hears Brienne stir from her spot at the small table in their room, make a few cautious steps to where he lay. There is a long moment where nothing happens and then Brienne tentatively places a kiss on his forehead. It's brief and simple, but once she's gone he can't resist reaching up a hand to touch the spot.

 **Authors: Ever have those times where you feel a small sore in your throat and then when you wake up the next day it's in absolute agony? Yeah, those sicknesses suck.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's notes: Thanks for reading, guys! Another chapter fresh off the printing press. Please forgive any typos. I did give it a quick read through before posting. Thanks for reviewing and reading! Much appreciated!**

 **Chapter 11**

The unpleasant sound of steel hitting bone seemed ever present. No matter how many corpses he ran through with his Valyrian steel sword, the dead kept coming and each and everyone of them had burning blue eyes. He didn't have to swing his sword with much skill. Every swipe cleaved through a rib cage or a hand.

Jaime tried to look for the others, but all he could see were an endless wave of dead bodies. Widow's Wail cleaved through skeletons like a dinner knife through butter. Bronn's familiar goatee, with flaps of rotting skin hanging off his face popped up and Jaime was cutting through him almost before he had the chance to recognize him. He cried out in surprise and leapt back.

More familiar faces started cropping up. Ned Stark appeared and he could swear there was something accusatory in those brilliant blue eyes. He lopped Ned Stark's head off again, coincidentally, and he ducked away to get from those judgmental eyes. Robert Baratheon was another, and then Catelyn Stark, Robb Stark, his father, the Hound. He cut through all of them, but he could start feeling the burn in his left arm.

He could see the Night King in the background, standing casually on a drift of snow and his army continued its inevitable march forward, pushing Jaime back through the knee high snow. Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Petyr Baelish, Varys, Olenna Tyrell and every member of her family, every single enemy from his past seemed to rise up and try to pull him down with him.

Then Brienne was in front of him. His eyes widened upon seeing her. The sapphire blue of her eyes was now an even more vibrant blue, with the greater part of her jaw gone, but he was already swinging his sword. He cut her torso in half, somehow easily slicing through the black armor he had given her.

"No," he screamed, trying to reach for Brienne, but a hundred dead hands were grabbing him, pulling at his clothing, pinning his arms. "Brienne!"

"You should've listened brother. For it is I who control the dead."

The Night King had carved a path through his army, but instead of a man, it was Cersei, smirking down upon him. She picked up Oathkeeper. It gleamed in the cold light and then she raised it up and stabbed him through his stomach.

Jaime Lannister jolted awake in Winterfell, sweat pouring off his body, his stomach muscles clenched in agony. Bile rose into his throat. He wasn't going to be able to stop it, so he looked for the chamber pot. A hand held it out to him and he snatched it up with his left hand and proceeded to empty his stomach into it.

"I thought you might be needing that."

Jaime looked up to see who had been the timely person to hold out the chamber pot and froze. His eyes grew wide and his blood ran cold. Brandon Stark was parked next to his bed in an odd chair with wheels. He never would've been able to recognize the boy were it not for his clear Stark features and the fact that he was clearly bound to a chair now. Much like Ned Stark's eyes in his dream, they seemed to pierce through him, as though they could read his very thoughts.

Jaime tried to open his mouth, but words were not forthcoming, but he refused to shrink back. He knew he was going to have to face this as soon as he stole his horse north. It was now time to be judged for his worst sin. He lowered the pot to the floor and said, "Lord Stark."

"No." The response was so terse, Jaime flinched. "I am not a lord. I can't be a lord. I am the Three-Eyed Raven."

"What does that mean?" Jaime asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It means that I can use the Weirwood trees to see the past and even parts of the future. I use ravens to see the present."

Jaime drew back, staring at him warily. He remembered a few weeks ago when the wolf pack saved his life and he thought the Starks might be closer to gods than actual mortal beings. Now he was convinced.

"So then...you know."

"That you shoved me out of the broken tower? Yes, I know."

"It was a monstrous thing for me to do. Nothing will make up for what I did to you, but if you will let me, I will apologize and do whatever you ask in penance. Unless, of course, you'd prefer I be beheaded by your brother."

Brandon chuckled. It lacked mirth and Jaime shifted uneasily at hearing it.

"When I was studying under the Three-Eyed Raven, the first thing I sought to discover was who crippled me. I became obsessed with you. I saw the day you got knighted. I saw you take your Whitecloak at Harrenhall. I saw when you asked your brothers if you should intervene on behalf of your queen to prevent her from being raped and the apall on your face when your brothers said you couldn't. I saw you kill the Mad King Aerys. You saved a whole city that day and all you received was scorn. My father was wrong about you."

Jaime became paler and paler as Brandon droned on. He cast around for something to say, but what could he say? This boy who was two and twenty years his junior just gave a summary of his life's story, touching on the most poignant and private moments that he had shared with fewer people than he had fingers. "Please stop," Jaime finally said, but Brandon kept going and he couldn't look away.

"My father's assessment bothered you. You began a downward spiral and let your arrogance get the better of you."

"You don't know me," Jaime snapped.

Brandon gave him a small smirk. "You're right. I don't, but I have watched you. You shoved me out of a window and then you injured my father. There end the last of your terrible deeds. You then languished in my brother's prison and on the way back to King's Landing, I saw Bolton's men take your hand."

Flashing back to the memory of that night, a white hot sympathy pain flared through his stump and he subconsciously rubbed at it.

"It was easy to follow your transformation from there. You're not the same man who pushed me out of that window."

"What does it matter if I have changed? I did the crime, I should get a fitting punishment."

Brandon shook his head. "You've been punished enough by the loss of your swordhand. Everything that you ever were. Besides, it'd be difficult to punish you for something out of your control."

Jaime cocked his head at him. "I'm not sure what you're getting at. I pushed you."

"Did you? See, if I hadn't been pushed, I would've gone to King's Landing with father's party. Then I would've been caught up in the war in the south. Whether I would be killed in your sister's initial attack or whether I got out like Arya, it would lead to the same result: I would have been unable to fulfill my destiny to become the Three-Eyed Raven. You pushing me out the window assured me that I would stay on track. It was meant to be."

A combination of fear and anger suddenly bubbled up in Jaime. "No! No one guided my hand! I did it!"

Brandon gave him a warning look, just as someone knocked on the door, and King Snow came in. "Bran, what are you doing here?"

"I just came to tell Ser Jaime about how important he is for the battle against the Night King. We need all the able-bodied men we can get," Bran replied.

"Well, it's time for supper." Jon glanced up at Jaime. "The maester informed me of your condition and suggested you take your meals up here in the foreseeable future until your fever abates. You're also not allowed to leave this room without Lady Brienne escorting you." If Jon expected an answer, he never received it and eventually left.

The youngest Stark's words were running through his head on a loop. _It was meant to be._ He tried to think back to that day he had pushed the boy out the window. He remember Cersei being horrified. Maybe in hindsight his lack of initial guilt or sympathy was a rather worrisome sign. Was he really so controlled by lust that no other emotion could hope to occupy any other space in his thoughts?

There was another knock on his door and it opened without him saying anything again.

Tyrion walked in bearing a tray of food for both of them. Jaime was brought back to the present by his entrance and only then just realized he was rubbing at his stump in a thoughtful manner. Tyrion, of course, saw the action and raised his eyebrows at him.

"Come, brother, it's time we sup. You're looking better."

"Hmm," Jaime hummed in acknowledgment. He no longer felt so exhausted from lack of sleep that his head felt foggy and adrift as if it at sea. His sweat from his earlier nightmare had turned cold and caused him to shudder, while sweat still beaded on his forehead from the fever that still held him. He noted that while his brother had whine, he only had water, and for once he was grateful for it. The maester seemed to feel that he had graduated from broth and stew and now sent up a plate of pork and greens. He dug into it with gusto.

Tyrion seemed to study him for a moment as they both ate and then he said, "I passed Brandon Stark - "

"I don't want to talk about it," Jaime cut off immediately. He had a feeling the boy's words would haunt him for the rest of his days and he really didn't want to hear Tyrion's philosophizing about it. The thought that _anything_ may have controlled his actions chilled him to his core.

"Very well, then why don't we talk about Lady Brienne?" Jaime gave Tyrion a sideways look. "I obviously haven't seen you and Brienne together much, but even back before Joffrey's wedding, I thought you were awfully close. That doesn't seem to have changed. Do you know what happened when you arrived here?"

"No, I don't."

"Why Brienne offered her room to you."

"She told me that."

"Did she also tell you that she just about stepped over King Jon's orders? He didn't give the order to move you to her room. She simply said it, picked you up, and started heading there without an order."

Jaime's fork hovered halfway toward his mouth, staring at Tyrion incredulously before he remembered the food and ate it. Brienne didn't even wait for her King to give an order regarding him? He knew that King Jon was a tough, well-respected, but amicable man. He could think of no other King that wouldn't at least throw someone in the cells for not giving them deference.

"She removed your clothes, even when the maester got huffy with her about it. Clearly, your wellbeing was at the forefront of her mind, her loyalty to her King be damned."

Jaime was touching the spot on his forehead she had kissed earlier this morning before he realized it.

"You care for her. I have no idea what could be going on in your head that would take you from Cersei to Brienne."

Jaime's temper flared again. "Don't even mention our sweet sister again. She's not even in the same league as Brienne."

"That you would rate her so highly is interesting. Have you decided on when you're going to tell her of your feelings?"

"She deserves better," Jaime mumbled. "I'm a crippled, old knight with shit for honor."

"And yet you're the only one who has treated her with respect."

"Not initially."

"You do now. I can think of only two other people here in Winterfell, who isn't in leadership that seem to have high regard for her. Tormund Giantsbane, a wildling who is on the wall, and the Hound. While she does seem to have garnered some respect, I heard that the nicknames Kingslayer's Whore and Brienne the Beauty are still thrown around."

Jaime narrowed his eyes at Tyrion.

"Love is a fickle thing, brother. I have the unfortunate habit of loving women who are wholly unattainable to me. You have the good fortune of loving someone who actually returns your affections." When Jaime continued to remain silent, Tyrion went on, "The last thing we need is for me to sound fatalistic, but brother...it could be the end of the world. I suggest you enjoy what little time you have left."

Jaime regarded Tyrion for a moment and then glanced over at the closed door. "Is she standing guard?"

"She is. And with any luck, she has listened to our entire conversation," Tyrion replied, looking a bit smug. "When we are done, Podrick will be by to relieve her so that she may eat her supper."

Jaime sighed and finished what little food was left on his plate. He didn't have much of an appetite, but he had to put on weight, so he forced himself to eat at every opportunity it was available for him.

Tyrion spent the rest of the time telling vague stories of his adventures in Mereen and how he came to be in service to the Dragon Queen. When he had learned that Tyrion had found himself in service to Daenerys Targaryen, he had been a little mixed. He wanted to feel betrayed, but after his sister's and father's campaign in the trial to get him killed or at least exiled to the Wall, he couldn't necessarily blame his brother for making the best of a bad situation.

There was a knock at the door. "Sounds like Podrick's back. Nice speaking with you, brother. We should do this more often."

"You know where I am," Jaime replied flatly.

The door opened and Brienne stepped through, bearing a plate of her food. When her eyes fell on Jaime, a blush spread across her cheeks, leading Jaime to believe that she had indeed heard their conversation. When the door shut behind Tyrion, Brienne asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Jaime said. "I appear to have caught up on my missing sleep, my lady." While he still shivered from the fever, he felt alert in ways that he hadn't in nearly a month and it felt to him to be a promising sign that perhaps his recovery would be swift.

"Good," Brienne replied and set her plate down at the table Jaime was sitting at. "I'm sorry to eat in front - "

"I don't know why you're explaining yourself to me. You need to eat too after all."

"I trust your sleep was restful?"

Jaime frowned at her. "Weren't you at the door?"

She hesitated a moment and then nodded.

"So then you know…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. She had heard his nightmare, she had heard his conversation with Bran. She was one of the few who knew he had thrown the boy out the window. Why she seemed to trust in him when he monstrously tried to kill a child, he wasn't sure. _And she likes you,_ his mind taunted at him. She had carried him to her room even though her reputation for being a maid was at stake. She hadn't hesitated to hold him while naked. Last but not least was the kiss she had planted on his forehead.

She was looking at him with curiosity in her eyes and he decided to let her eat and said, "Anything interesting happen while I was asleep?"

"No. Just the same as it was the day before. King Jon and Queen Daenerys are still trying to outline the best strategy for facing the Night King. We haven't had any word from Castle Black nor Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. It could just be ravens aren't surviving the cold or…"

"Something worse." Jaime shivered again, but it had nothing to do with his fever. His thoughts cast back to the nightmare he had earlier in the day and how he'd sliced through Brienne before he realized what he was doing. There was no denying the way his heart had plummeted in his chest and it made him queasy just thinking about it.

"Are you alright? You're looking a little pale."

"I'm fine," Jaime muttered.

"Let me check your head." She was suddenly next to him and she placed the back of her hand on his forehead.

He sighed in relief. Her hand was cool and dry and was like a balm on the heat emanating from his head.

"I think your fever must've broken while you were asleep. Still warm though." She made to step back, but Jaime had caught her hand in his. He brought it lower and placed a delicate and chaste kiss on the back, nearly cradling it to his cheek, his eyes were closed.

They stayed like that for a few moments before his eyes opened and he looked up at her. Another blush was spreading across her nose and cheeks and he smiled at how innocent she looked. Then he said, "I apologize for my behavior earlier today. You were only trying to help."

"No, it's alright. I may have been a bit...tactless in what I said. I know you meant well."

He wanted nothing more than to grab her and kiss her properly, but it didn't feel right since he was still sick. Reluctantly he let her hand go. She seemed disappointed, but she didn't say anything and moved back to finishing her meal.

The night was still young and Jaime insisted that they do something other than sleep. "I won't have any more muscle if all I do is lie in a bed."

"You can't train in the yard!"

"Then let's do something else. How about a game of Cyvasse?"

"I didn't know you played."

"I don't. I'm terrible at it, but it's better than sleeping at this point."

"I find that difficult to believe. It's a game about strategy and I know you're a good commander."

"Perhaps I will surprise myself."

She sent Podrick for a Cyvasse board and they started playing. Although his interest in the game had increased since he had become a commander, his mind wasn't into it, and Brienne wiped the board with him in spectacular fashion all three games.

"Well played, my Lady."

Brienne scoffed. "You weren't even trying."

"Mayhaps I wasn't, but it was vastly more interesting than standing at the window and watching other people train."

"Well, it's late now. Are you ready to retire?"

"I think so."

Yet more clothes had appeared for him. It made him wonder if the servants at Winterfell were ghosts, because he never saw them except when they were explicitly called for. He changed quickly and was surprised at how soft the night clothes were. He turned around to find that Brienne had been as swift to change as him for a woolen nightshift. He was almost disappointed. Brienne put another log on the fire and joined him in bed. He reached for her to pull her closer.

"Ser Jaime, really…"

"I think you can drop the 'ser' part," he whispered and planted a kiss on the skin between her neck and her shoulder. He felt her shiver, but whether it was in desire or the cold, he couldn't be sure. She fumbled around for a moment before she found his hand and squeezed it. He smiled against her back.

They drifted off. At one point, Jaime turned over in his sleep, but neither of them overly stirred. The fire crackled merrily in its hearth, ensuring that the warmth filled the room and slowly started to die, lowering the light.

Neither one of them stirred when the door slowly creaked open.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Notes: So, I've been updating this fic twice a week, well I may have to cut back to once a week. I do have other things to get done. Sorry! =( I don't have too much else to write, so this fic will be done soon. Thank you all for your reviews and support!**

 **Chapter 12**

"Who the fuck are you?"

Jaime's eyes snapped open, but before he could get a good look, someone grabbed him by his right arm and violently pulled him from the bed. He yelped and tried to wrench his arm away, but his assailant held him like a bear trap. The grip loosened and Jaime was able to see who had attacked. It was a big man, not as big as the mountain, but mostly looking bulky by the staggering amount of furs he was wearing. He had wild red hair and beard. At the moment, he seemed to be baffled by Jaime's lack of hand.

"What - TORMUND, STOP!" Brienne shouted from the other side of the bed.

Jaime wound up and socked the man with his left hand.

The man grunted and recoiled, but then swung back through and bashed his own fist into the side of Jaime's head. Stars burst into Jaime's vision and he crumpled to the floor, groggy and wounded, but he could still hear.

"What in Seven Hells are you doing?" Brienne shouted at such a pitch that it made even Jaime wince.

"Wh-what he's doin' in here?"

"Ser Jaime is my friend and he has been ill!"

"He don't look ill."

"It doesn't matter what you think! How many times have I told you, I'm not interested!"

"You're beautiful, though! I can think of no better woman to be the mother of my children."

Jaime shook his head to clear his mind and upon hearing that, he raised his eyebrow in interest and peered at the two as best he could. Brienne was staring down at this Tormund fellow with a look of pure anger he never thought he'd see on her. The woolen shift did little to hide her muscular and powerful figure that towered over even that man. To his credit, the red-haired man didn't look intimidated at all, but forlorn.

"You come here again and I'll hit you so hard, you'll be able to collect enough of your own teeth for a necklace."

"What's going on here?"

Jaime sighed. It wasn't enough that he had to be pulled from bed and laid low in humiliating fashion, but now the King had to witness it. Jon was clearly dressed for bed, wearing a plush robe of white ermine fur, but he still bothered to strap his sword to his waist. Jaime finally managed to get to his feet. He put his hand to his left eye. It pulsed in time to his heartbeat in a now familiar fashion. He glared with his one eye at the red-haired man.

"Tormund! How many times do I have to tell you that Brienne of Tarth can't be courted in the traditional wildling way," Jon Snow snapped at the burly man.

"I thought you said it was disrespectful for men and women to share beds. What's he doing here?"

"I gave Ser Jaime Lannister permission to be here. He and Brienne have history and he was ill. She volunteered to take care of him. He's been here for three days I've seen no unbecoming conduct from him," Jon replied.

Any other King wouldn't have bothered explaining himself to a subordinate, but it was becoming clear that Jon Snow was no ordinary king.

"Jaime Lannister...you mean the handless cunt who fucks his sister? That's him?!"

Jaime growled in response, but Brienne stepped closer to him so that she was partially blocking him.

"Greatest swordsmen of the south my ass. I've seen wildling children take harder hits than that."

"He's ill!" Brienne drew herself up and growled as well. "At full strength, I bet Ser Jaime could knock you on your ass."

"I'll take that bet. When he gets to full strength, I'll duel him...for your hand," Tormund said, with a wild grin.

"Done," Jaime snapped.

"No one is fighting anyone and certainly not for the hand of a maiden," Jon Snow shouted at them. "Tormund, out!"

Tormund gave one last look, a look of longing at Brienne and a look of loathing for him, and leaves through the door.

Jon stays a little longer. "I have made an exception in your case, Ser Jaime, but Tormund is right. After tonight, you're going to have to move to a different room. Brienne doesn't deserve the doubt that you have placed in her honor."

Jaime's temper flared and he was saying, "As if anyone here actually cared about her virtue. Maybe they'd actually see her as more than a maid then."

Jon gave him a strange look, but simply made his exit. Brienne grabbed him by the arms and guided him back to bed. Once he was sitting, he turned his attention to her before she could go back to her side.

"Tyrion mentioned a wildling. Tormund, was it?"

Brienne sighed in frustration. "He's called Tormund Giantsbane. He's one of King Jon's staunchest allies. He helped him win back Winterfell from the Boltons."

"Why does he have this interest in you?"

She gave him a knowing look. "It's not mutual, Jaime. The first time I met Tormund, I had delivered Lady Sansa to Castle Black for her brother Jon. He was there and...I won't lie, he was looking at me like I was some goddess come to life. I have never known anyone to look at me that way. Not even you." She sits down next to him

Jaime shifts uncomfortably. He is aware of how scornful he'd been of Brienne's looks and even now he couldn't get away from the fact that she _was_ unconventionally attractive, even seeing her in the new light that he did.

"However, his attentions got old very fast. I haven't had too many encounters with him. Most of what I've heard is secondhand, but he seems interested in me if only because I'm a 'big woman.' He doesn't care about honor or ideals. He just wants to mate with me." She's blushing again. "I've told him more than once I'm not interested. He hasn't tried anything...at least until now. Apparently, the wildling way is to steal upon a maid in the night and take her. I wonder if that's what he was doing."

"You think I might have interrupted his plans?" Jaime thought, feeling the anger grow white hot again. He had a difficult time believing that Jon Snow would befriend a barbarian who steals maiden virtues, but it just makes him more convinced that no matter what Snow says, they _will_ have that duel and he is going to be prepared to beat the shit out of that wildling fool. Even if the bet for Brienne's hand isn't honored. He wouldn't actually hold her to that unless she insisted.

"It's hard to say. I know he's done terrible things in his life, but so far he's been cooperative with the King's laws. He seems to have a lot of respect for King Snow."

"Good. Glad I could cockblock the bastard."

Brienne slapped him on his arm and he grinned at her. "I don't need your help protecting myself. I keep a dagger under my pillow for just such an occasion."

"I knew you would," Jaime replied. He wrapped his arm around her and lowered her to the bed with him.

They both get back under the covers. Jaime can feel himself drifting off again, but Brienne's voice causes him to crack his eyes open again.

"I...I heard your conversation with your brother. Did you mean what you said? That you...care for me?"

Jaime really didn't want to be having this conversation in the dead of night when he was exhausted, but then maybe that's the reason Brienne chose to pick this time. It was difficult to lie when you were half asleep, not that he intended to.

"I do," Jaime whispered.

"How long?"

"I can't say for sure. It might even go as far back as Harrenhal." He was looking into her eyes. Even as he spoke it, he knew she was wrestling with the truth. How could Jaime Lannister love someone as ugly as her? "What about you? I know you have feelings for me," he replied with a knowing smirk.

Brienne looked at him nervously as if he expected to laugh at her. "I think...it started when you jumped in to save me from the bear. I had no idea what was going through your head, but I was...touched that you decided you wanted to keep me nearby. That is the first kind gesture that had been offered to me by a man since Renly..."

Jaime felt his smile sour. _How has Brienne lived her whole life with not a single ally?_ He knew that Renly held a special place in her heart because he was the very first person outside of her family to treat her kindly. It was amusing to realize that to some extent their roles were reversed. Jaime Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock had everything, until he had forsaken it all to ride north. Now he had nothing. While Brienne at the minimum had garnered great respect by the Ladies and King of Winterfell and even a man like the Hound. He knew that the northerners would not hesitate to grant the knighthood she craved if that was a time honored tradition here. It unfortunately wasn't, but without a doubt her name would live on in the annals of Winterfell history.

His name would likely be burned from history.

He cupped her face with his hand and ran a thumb along it. Her eyes fluttered shut in what he hoped was contentment. "Brienne, you have long been deserving of respect and I'm sorry that the world you live in means that hardly anyone will take you seriously. Keep showing them what you're made of and I know you'll be forever remembered."

Brienne shook her head against his head. "I don't care if I'm remembered." She looked like she wanted to say more, but just shook her head.

They stared at each other in the darkness. She kept glancing from his eyes to his lips and back again. When she moved forward for a kiss, his moved his thumb to cover her mouth and said, "Wait."

He instantly saw the hurt in her eyes and he spoke quickly to quash it. "The only reason that I haven't kissed you senseless by now is because I don't feel up to the task. Whenever I get over this gods damned illness, I swear the first thing I'll do is kiss you."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Hey, everyone, thanks for all your reviews and support! It really makes the process of storytelling a lot more fun!**

 **However, I did want to say that I am confirmed going to be moving at the end of this month, which means I'll have to split my focus from this. I hope to continue updating once a week, but please be patient if I fall behind.**

 **Chapter 13**

Jaime sat on Tyrion's bed, drumming his fingers and tapping his foot impatiently. The maester had told him that he would probably be cleared at full health, but he wanted to give him one last check-up before he was allowed to do anything, including training. For the first time since he'd arrived at Winterfell, he had bothered to put his gold hand back on.

It had been three days since Tormund had rudely stormed in the night. During the day, Jaime had followed Brienne around as she did her duties, namely training the men and women of Winterfell in combat. When he had grabbed for a training sword, she told him flatly that he was still too ill to train. He wanted to protest, but Ser Davos and King Jon had been nearby and they instantly stamped down on the idea. It was too cold to merely sit and watch, so he had paced irritably and watched Brienne work.

He was also forced to take his meals in his room, never with the rest of Winterfell. He had Tyrion and Brienne to share meals with, but it kept him isolated, which made him nervous that no one at Winterfell would ever accept him. King Jon had insisted that once he decided his judgement, he would be free to walk Winterfell, presuming it was a favorable judgement. He was still deliberating.

That night she had dropped him off at Tyrion's room, which was where his new quarters were - "The man is supposed to be dropping the lady off," he'd pouted at her - he walked into a light teasing by Tyrion. "Brienne give you the boot, dear brother?"

"I'll give you the boot," Jaime had snarled at him before changing and heading to bed. A sleeping mat had been placed on the floor and when he settled into it, it had very little cushion to it. He disliked rooming with Tyrion. His brother was terrible at sleeping and sat up half the night reading books. He was quiet, but the page flipping grated on Jaime's nerves all the same.

Tyrion wasn't the only late night distraction. He could hear King Jon and the dragon queen arguing about something. There was clear anger to their tone, but the voices were too muffled to tell what exactly they were saying. After the fighting had died off one night, Jaime asked if Tyrion knew what they were arguing about, but his little brother had merely shrugged his shoulders and said, "Lover's quarrel?"

 _I should've known Jon Snow would bed Daenerys Targaryen,_ he thought. Her trust in Jon might be the only reason why he hasn't been executed yet for kingslaying. At least, he hoped it was.

The wildling that had intruded in the night, Tormund, couldn't seem to resist glaring at him from across the courtyard during the day. Everyday he would go to Brienne who was in the middle of training and chat with her. Jaime would tense and grind his teeth, but he stayed where he was. He was pleased to see that Brienne's responses were clipped and Tormund frequently walked away looking dissatisfied.

Of the leadership in Winterfell, he had yet to even encounter Daenerys. He wondered if she was avoiding him and he was happy to stay out of her way. Sansa Stark had a tendency to go out and oversee Brienne's training from above as she spoke to Ser Davos and someone whom Jaime presumed was the castellan. Occasionally, she would catch him staring at her, but instead of the meek little girl who hid behind courtesies, she would match him eye for eye. He didn't sense outright hostilities from her, but perhaps suspicion. He was always the first to look away and in some sense felt a small amount of pride for the poor abused girl who had survived Cersei Lannister. He had no doubt that should she ever meet Cersei, she wouldn't hide behind her courtesies anymore.

The biggest surprise might be Arya Stark. He didn't encounter her much at the Red Keep, but what little he did remembered revolved around a disheveled and feral child, running around in half-mad ways. Now she was well-groomed and a formidable foe with that Braavosi sword. He'd heard a few rumors whispered around the place that she trained at the House of Black and White. Whether she did or not, he wasn't sure, but the looks she sent his way would have caused a lesser man to tremble. He's not sure he knew the correct words, but there was an intensity to her eyes that could not be ignored.

"I apologize for my tardiness. I'm afraid there was a quarrel in the kitchens that needed my attention," the maester said as he slipped into the room.

Jaime glared at him, but as soon as the maester turned to focus on him he turned it into a smile. A slightly mocking one, but he was too impatient for anything else. He wasn't used to being down with a sickness and he was even less used to people caring so much that he recover. Cersei would've told him to find his balls and get out of bed, but Brienne, Tyrion, and the maester watched him like a murder of crows. As soon as he began to shiver, Brienne would beg off training and haul him inside. He became adept at hiding how the cold bothered him.

The Maester bustled over and began inspecting him, putting a hand to his forehead, demanding he open his mouth, and checking his ears. Jaime had almost forgotten that they'd been sliced up and when he'd finally remembered to check, he was pleased to see that the cuts were barely noticeable. His ears were just a little less round. He put a thumb on the pulse at his neck.

"Am I fully healed now?" Jaime asked.

"Just a moment, ser. Take off your shirt, I'd like to check your muscle tone."

 _What muscle tone?_ Jaime thought with a scowl. His muscle hadn't diminished too badly, but even after a solid week of square meals, he still was as skinny as when he first arrived. The Maester tutted.

"I'm going to inform King Snow that you need a small increase in your food if we want to get you back to fighting form."

"Is that wise? Everyone's on rations," Jaime said. _I don't need people to hate me even more because I get extra food, too._ He would, after all, be finally joining everyone in the dining hall now that he was no longer sick.

"Your fever is gone and the sickness is no longer upon you. You are cleared for training."

Jaime smirked and wasted no time heading out the door, where he found Brienne standing guard. She noticed the ecstatic grin on his face and asked, "Good news, I take it?"

"Do you remember what I said a few days ago? The first thing I was going to do was kiss you senseless." She opened her mouth and her eyes went wide. It closed and a blush started creeping up her neck. He stepped in closer to her so that her back was against the wall. "I'm going to do that right now, if you'll allow me." He only hesitated for another second. She seemed unable to give him a direct answer - there was something like fear in her eyes, but surely he was mistaken. Brienne didn't know fear.

He brought his hand up to cup her cheek and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on her lips. When he drew back she gasped and her eyes opened. She seemed torn by desire and fear and continued to stare at him warily. He frowned as he carefully ran his thumb over the ridge of her cheek in what he hoped was a calming gesture and then leaned in again.

This time he did not pull away quickly, but savored the feel of her lips against his. They were unlike any lips of any woman he'd ever kissed and that list did in fact extend beyond Cersei. Where all of those other womens' lips were soft and supple, hers were dry, unyielding, and completely ignorant of the art of kissing. She stood rigidly against him.

He pulled away again and said, "Just relax. Let me do the work."

She blinked and nodded numbly at him as he once again dived for her lips. He wasted no time in trying to probe her mouth open. She finally seem to take his advice and relaxed and he was able to kiss her much more thoroughly. She finally started reacting to him, turning her head to get to get a better angle, and low moan emanated from her throat.

"Ahem."

They both turned to find Jon Snow and his Hand Ser Davos standing a few feet away. Brienne was blushing to her hair roots and made a short bow to Jon, keeping her eyes intently on the ground. Jaime couldn't prevent himself from grinning like an idiot.

"King Jon," Jaime said, also bowing, though he was more formal about it.

"I will be holding a council meeting after lunch. It is time I passed your judgement. I don't need to make sure you're there, do I, Ser Jaime?" Jon said, his face was an unreadable mask.

"No, you don't," Jaime replied, though the grin fell from his face and his heart dropped like a stone into his stomach.

Jon and Ser Davos walked away.

Jaime wanted to curse them for interrupting what might be the last happy moment he'd ever have. _Surely he's not going to execute me after healing me. He hasn't put me in chains, so he must trust me. Right? Or is he solely relying on my loyalty to Brienne to keep me from making trouble?_ Not that he intended to.

Brienne squeezed his arm. "It's going to be alright. I'm sure you won't be executed."

"Not unless Brandon Stark changed his mind," Jaime muttered under his breath. Suddenly, Brienne leaned in to kiss him and he blinked at her in surprise before smiling again. "Has kissing become your new favorite activity?"

"Mayhaps it has," she replied and started off to the stairs.

 _Maybe I can introduce you to more of_ my _favorite activities before my execution,_ Jaime thought, but that was hardly fair to Brienne and she would scoff at his certainty to his impending execution. _Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm worrying for nothing._ After all, hadn't the maester said he wished to increase his rations? Why would the maester advise that if he was going to be a dead man? In all likelihood though, the maester didn't know what Jon's decree would be, so he'd just dispense his usual advice for someone in his position.

Jaime followed Brienne to the dining hall. It was crowded now and the moment he was visible from the top of the stairs, all eyes were on him and a hush fell over the hall. He tried to pay it no mind, but he did speed up so that he was right on her heels instead of trailing behind.

"Cunt."

"I don't understand why he isn't a prisoner. Surely the King doesn't trust him."

"I heard he mighta turned on his sister."

"Her cunt not so sweet now?"

"Who gives a fuck? Still don't trust him."

"Kingslayer."

"Sisterfucker."

 _I have no interest in my sister anymore_ , he tried to tell himself, but he would be lying if the thought of her being pregnant with his child - again! - didn't weigh on his mind. He couldn't, wouldn't, go back to her, but it was one more thing chaining him to her and yet more evidence against him being a changed man. _Why did I have to fuck her that last time?_ He'd initially said no, when she grabbed his face for a kiss, but Cersei always got what Cersei wanted, the crowned queen or not, and his defenses had collapsed as they'd kissed.

"It's going to be alright. I promise." She thought he was thinking about the coming trial, when he'd almost forgotten it.

 _Oh Brienne, has anyone ever told you to never make promises you can't keep?_ It took all of his effort not to speak the words aloud. To voice it would give his future fate credence.

She had stopped to stand next to Pod while they waited for lunch to be served. "Let's not think about that. Whatever may come, let's just enjoy ourselves. Pod, how's your training go? Has she knighted you yet?"

"Oh - well - um - I'm getting better."

"He's a fucking toddler with the sword," the Hound growled out next to Pod, who blushed furiously.

"He has improved," Brienne snapped back. She was speaking the truth, Jaime could tell, but she didn't specify to what degree he had improved and that made Jaime smile.

He tried to cover it with his left hand in an act to make him look like he was pondering and said, "Hmm...maybe the sword isn't the right weapon for you. Have you considered anything else?"

"Oh, well no, ser."

"Maybe tomorrow we'll see about intensifying your training. You can't stay a squire forever," Jaime said, but the words felt hollow in his throat. Tyrion was the one for brooding, but he could very well die after lunch and he couldn't help but look at Brienne sadly. She would glance at him and he'd smile. He hoped she didn't see the sadness in his eyes.

Lunch was chicken and potatoes. He sat between Brienne and Pod so that a stranger couldn't disturb him. He heard various mutterings about how bland the food was, since Winterfell was running low on spices, but it tasted of dirt and the bitter cold to him. He ate it all the same.

A low mutter of conversation was happening around him, but he neither heard nor participated in it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the worry on Brienne's face, but when he turned to her she would paper over it with a smile, just like him. Brienne was on his left side and so he set down his fork and found her hand to squeeze it in comfort.

As there were so many people stationed at Winterfell, lunch was served in shifts, so he, Brienne, and Pod were forced to clear out. Brienne immediately went to the training yards and handed Jaime a sparring sword. He gripped the hilt so hard, he was certainly the wood would crack beneath his fingers. He had to make the willful effort to loosen his grip, because holding it so tightly would cause him to be stiff in his movements.

They sparred for a time. Brienne smiled as they scrapped. It had been years since she had last seen him use a sword and now she was seeing his monumental progress. A crowd gathered around them as they battled, which included Tormund, the Hound, Lady Sansa, and Lady Arya. He was nowhere near the skill level he used to be at with his right hand and he wasn't close to her skill either. She knocked the sword out of his hand every time.

"I'm impressed. You've come a long way."

"Not long enough," Jaime said, bending down once more for the sword. He grimaced at the way his back twinged and his knees cracked. He gotten some much needed northern clothes that were bulkier than what he was used to, but lined with sheeps wool that kept him warm, so it wasn't the cold that was causing the stiffness in his limbs.

A bell suddenly clanged through the courtyard and various lords who had been watching now turned to make their way inside.

"It's time," Brienne said and headed towards the Hall. Jaime followed her, keeping his head high. If he was going to die today, he'd do it with as much dignity as he could muster.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: Good day, everyone! Thank you all so much for reading! I love hearing your thoughts! I officially move next weekend to a new apartment, so next chapter may be a little late. =( Sorry!**

 **Chapter 14**

Jaime stood in the far corner of the room, as far back from Jon Snow as he could manage. Jon was sitting at a simple wooden table with Queen Daenerys Targaryen on his right and Lady Sansa on his left. Brandon Stark's chair was parked behind them against the wall next to Ser Davos, and Arya was standing next to her sister. Tyrion was standing on the other side closest to Daenarys. They all had the same placid expression on their face without a crack in the facade. He had no idea what any of them were thinking.

The guard at the door closed it once the last lord slipped through and then locked it. There was no escape, not there would be anywhere to escape to.

Jaime was leaning back against the wall next to Brienne nonchalantly, but it took a concentrated effort to keep his foot from tapping the floor or to even prevent himself doing any number of clearly nervous gestures. He also went to the added effort of trying to control his breathing. _They're not going to kill me. I'm confident they're not going to kill me._

He had said many times before that he had no fear of death, but that wasn't quite true. The idea of dying in battle, generally a quick death, had never truly bothered him. It meant that he had died fighting for something that he believed in. However, standing at trial while your misdeeds were laid before you was an entirely different battle and one he wasn't very well practiced in. He now also had something worth living for and an ideal to live up to.

"For our first order of business, Ser Jaime Lannister step forward," King Jon said. A murmur started up among the lords and they all started glancing around the hall to try and find him.

He drew in a deep breath and stepped forward. His steps were calm and steady. He kept his eyes trained on King Jon, but out of the corner, he could see the sneers and anger on the faces of the lords and ladies who occupied either side of the hall. He stopped when he was a few paces away from the table. Daenarys seemed to frown a little harder and her eyes seemed glaring, but she said nothing.

"Jaime Lannister, your family is currently at war and have been at war with the Starks for no less than eight years. Both of our families have suffered significantly. Let's list some of the crimes you have committed. You murdered your King, Aerys Targaryen II when you were of the Kingsguard, forever soiling your honor and your white cloak."

Jaime frowned tersely at that, but didn't say anything.

"You committed incest with your sister, the now Queen Cersei Lannister, and fathered three bastards, most notably Joffrey Waters, who tortured Lady Sansa while she was in King's Landing. Lady Sansa does say, however, that you and your brother Tyrion were among the few who stood up for her."

The murmuring among the lords grew louder and a call rang out, "Just kill him and be done with it!"

"Silence! Do not speak unless you are called before us," Jon shouted above the din and the lords fell silent at once. It was impressive how much deference they gave to a bastard.

"You also severely injured Lord Eddard Stark, leaving him vulnerable to your sister's machinations. Although your crimes are few, they are severe."

"He murdered my brother in escape attempt from King Robb's camp," a lady shouted.

"Quiet! He was a prisoner of war. Any deaths committed during war do not count, unless it constitutes a significant war crime, such as the Red Wedding."

"Are the Lannisters not responsible for the Red Wedding?"

"If you do not show your King his due respect by remaining silent when he commands, then I will toss out every offender," Jon bellowed once more and the hall fell silent again.

"I had nothing to do with the Red Wedding. I still wasn't even in King's Landing by the time it happened," Jaime said. "That was planned and executed strictly on my father's orders and no one else's."

Jon seemed to weigh his words for a moment, then nodded. "Your brother gave similar testimony that no other Lannisters besides Tywin Lannister was involved in the massacre that occurred at the Twins."

Jaime's eyes flicked over to Tyrion. His little brother gave him a half-smile and a small nod.

"Now, you claim to be a changed man. According to both Lady Brienne and Lady Sansa, you swore an oath to Catelyn Stark to return her daughters to her. When she died, you and Lady Brienne both personally modified the oath to take them somewhere safe. You gave Brienne a Valyrian steel sword that was forged from the remnants of Eddard Stark's old Valyrian steel sword Ice, with the idea that she would use it to protect the Stark daughters. With your full support, Lady Brienne did eventually manage to rescue Lady Sansa and make her safe."

"By Lord Tyrion's own testimony, you freed him when he was in danger of being executed for the death of King Joffrey Waters, knowing that he was innocent of that crime, defying your own lord father and queen sister."

Jaime frowned even more. What would the lords here care about whether a Lannister was innocent or not of the crimes he was charged with?

"Lady Brienne also describes how you were on your way to King's Landing with Bolton's men as escort, when you came back to bring her with you. She was stuck in a pit forced to fight a full grown bear with a wooden sword, and you jumped into the pit to rescue her."

The hall rumbled once more with the voices of the lords and ladies as they listened, but Jon Snow continued without acknowledging them.

"We had word from both Lady Brienne and Lord Edmure Tully, that you took Riverrun without spilling unnecessary blood, save for the Blackfish, who refused to stop fighting. Finally, you abandoned your queen Cersei Lannister, delivered valuable information in regards to her plans, and have offered your services to fight against the Others."

There were a couple of nasty chuckles among the bunch.

"How's he going to help with anything? He's a cripple!"

"I don't trust him."

Jaime felt his hackles raise. He desperately wanted to shout out his merits as a fighter, even while crippled, but the words he wanted to say felt hollow and his mouth also had a tendency to run away from him, a trait he shared with Tyrion, so it took all of his willpower to stay silent and wait. He still scowled at all the lords around him.

Jon rose to his feet and the lords fell silent once more. He glared at everyone in the hall and Jaime was certainly he saw all of them collectively shrink back. "Let it be known," Jon began and there was fury in his voice, "that all who wish to fight against the Others, whether they are young or old, fighting fit or not, we need all the help that we can get! So, it is my decision, made in tandem with Queen Daenerys that Ser Jaime Lannister be pardoned for _all_ of his crimes, including that of Kingslaying."

Everyone gasped, including Jaime himself. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open in disbelief.

Jon locked eyes with Jaime. "It is our determination that you have paid for your crimes with the suffering you have endured. Make no mistake, though. Run afoul of either of us again and you will pay with your life."

Jaime released a breath he didn't realize he was holding and gave a curt nod.

"Now, I want to make this clear. I do not expect you to like Ser Jaime, I do not expect you to care for him, but you _will_ respect him as an ally to our cause."

"Brienne, hand me Oathkeeper. If I have to swear on a sword, it's not going to be on one called Widow's Wail," Jaime said.

"Just a moment, before you swear anything," Jon said, before he returned to his seat. The King's face grew darker and Jaime was under the distinct impression that he was carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders. "There is something I must tell you all. It has recently come to my attention that I...I am not Lord Eddard Stark's bastard."

 _I must have misheard that. What?_ Jaime thought, cocking his head with interest. He remained standing in the middle of the floor, but no one was paying him the slightest bit of attention anymore. He took a step forward and then another, narrowing his eyes at King Jon.

"Bran, the Three-Eyed Raven and Samwell Tarly, most recently of the Citadel were able to jointly confirm my birth status. I am the son of Lyanna Stark."

The silence in the hall was almost complete. Lords were looking between each other in confusion.

"Rhaegar Targaryen was my true father. According to Septon Maynard, he annulled the marriage between Prince Rhaegar and Elia Martell. Prince Rhaegar did not abduct my mother. She went with him willingly and they were married by the Septon. Rhaegar then left my mother, Lyanna, at the Tower of Joy and left three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Arthur Dayne behind to protect her. She perished in childbirth. My true name is Aemon Targaryen."

If there was an uproar, Jaime couldn't hear it over the blood roaring in his own ears. His heart pounded and he seemed to choke on his own breath. _The great and honorable Ned Stark_ lied _to_ everyone _about his bastard son._ And suddenly...it all made sense. He may not have been in the Kingsguard for long at that point, but he had guarded Rhaegar enough to know the man was not capable of raping a noblewoman. He remembered finding the prince's behavior once the war started baffling, but he was in no position to question his prince at the time. He'd written it off as Rhaegar turning out to be mad as his father, but it just hadn't made any sense. There had been no time to contemplate it back then and it was futile to think about it once he was dead. What was done was done, but this…

"Ser Jaime?"

He thought he could hear Brienne's voice, but it seemed far away. The room disappeared around him and he could once again see Ned Stark approaching him as he sat on the throne. He had papered over his own anguish in the only way he knew how with a smug smile. In reality, bile was in his throat and he wanted nothing more than to walk away.

The disgust on old Ned's face was quite apparent. "You killed him?"

"Yes," Jaime said, "And now the throne can be mine. What do you think?"

"You were in his Kingsguard. You were supposed to protect him, not kill him."

"Don't worry. I have no desire to be king. I'll let your friend Robert take his prize."

Ned Stark couldn't seem to find the right words. He opened his mouth a few times, grinded his teeth, and if he hadn't misheard, he growled like an enraged wolf.

"Don't act so wounded, Stark. You were coming to kill him anyway. I just saved you the job."

He wouldn't have been surprised if Ned Stark had struck him down right then. He might have even welcomed it. It wasn't until later he learned that while he was gloating over the dead king's body, Elia Martell and her children had met a grisly fate. Yet another failure of his. He truly would have given his life to spare them. _But to what end?_ Robert would have hunted them down as surely as he tried to hunt down Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen.

It wasn't until he felt the bite of cold on his face that he realize he had left the hall and stormed outside. His limbs trembled, but with rage rather than the cold.

Those who were not in attendance of the meeting stared at him, but he couldn't see them. He grabbed the first practice sword he saw, went to the closest dummy and began tearing into it. He didn't bother practicing with anything resembling finesse and just hit it with brute force. The next thing he knew, the dummy was laying in splintered pieces at his feet and he was panting. The rage had dulled, but it was still there manifesting as pain in his heart.

"Ser Jaime," Brienne said a little louder. He turned to see she was standing a little more than arm's length away and Pod was standing even further behind her. The people around him were looking at him warily, but whenever his gaze settled on one of them, they would hurry off to return to their chores more vigorously. Brienne stepped a little closer. "Are you alright?"

He huffed like an angry bull. "Honorable, worthy Ned Stark. Everyone trusts the word of Ned Stark. He has the brass balls to lie about the origin of his...nephew and at the same time condemn me for murdering the Mad King when he didn't even try to understand the circumstances. If this place wasn't full of Stark men, I'd go piss on his grave."

"We both know King Robert would have killed King Jon."

"King Aemon, you mean? I _know_ that. My anger isn't about Ned's secret, it's about judging me. I soiled my cloak and saved countless number of lives. He soils his cloak, but do you think anyone will call him Lyin' Ned? No! He judged me and the whole of Westeros disparaged me."

"You're the Kingslayer no more. King...Aemon and Queen Daenerys have pardoned you of that."

"Do you really think that will prevent people from calling me that?"

"Maybe it won't, but your hands are clean. You still have to pledge your loyalty to the king. You storming out of the hall didn't go unnoticed."

He scowled. "They probably think I'm gathering a horse to ride off to Cersei."

"That's easily remedied," Brienne replied. She was gazing at him with a small smile on her face, standing straight, she nodded toward the hall.

He sighed and nodded and began trooping back into the hall. Pod fell into step behind them. The Lords and Ladies of the north had lined up to re-pledge their support to their king. King Aemon was sitting at the table, speaking rote, and sending his pledges on their way. To Jaime, he looked out of his depth and uncomfortable, but he powered through it until he reached Jaime. He studied Jaime.

"I must admit, I'm surprised you returned."

"It wasn't you that caused me to...leave," Jaime replied, drawing his mouth into a terse frown. He tried to shove the thought of Ned Stark out of his head. He would never forgive that dishonorable bastard.

Brienne held her sword out to him and he grabbed it, putting it point down on the ground and kneeling in front of Aemon Targaryen. Quietly, so that only Aemon could hear, he said, "From this day forward, I vow to live, fight, and die only on your behalf. My sword is yours, King Aemon Targaryen."

"Thank you, Ser Jaime. I expect no less from you than all of my other liege lords," Aemon said. Jaime's eyes lingered on his face probably for far too long but he was looking for clues of Rhaegar. He disappeared back into his corner and Brienne joined him shortly after reaffirming her oath to the king. They stood quietly, for which Jaime was grateful as he pondered. It had been so long since he had seen Prince Rhaegar's face that the details were fuzzy. To his likely good fortune, he did take quite heavily from the Stark line, but Jaime was certain there was something in his eyes and perhaps even his hair that suggested Targaryen descent.

The muffled shouting he had heard while in Tyrion's room now made sense. Aemon was arguing with Daenerys over the throne to the Seven Kingdoms. _Her claim is not strong enough anymore, not unless he marries her._ Compared to the rest of their history, marrying aunt to nephew was quite tame and in this case it might even work in their favor. The Targaryen line was almost history - they needed to rekindle it and diluted blood would not be enough. Unlike his relationship with Cersei, the Targaryen's marrying within family was almost expected. It was only Rhaegar's marriage to Elia Martell - well, marriages to include Lyanna Stark - that broke that precedent.

Maybe...just maybe there was still hope in the world. He despaired over Cersei having the throne, but who else was there? He'd had no personal interactions with Queen Daenerys besides seeing her speak at the dragon pit. On one hand, she seemed perfectly reasonable and rational, but on the other she had burnt his army alive. Granted, it was war, but he had hoped to never have to see another man burning to death again in his life. He still hadn't gotten Rickard Stark's screams out of his nightmares and now he was joined with a cacophony of mutilated souls dressed in burning Lannister red armor.

Aemon rose to his feet once more. "I think you all for your pledges of fealty. For as long as you are my subjects, you will have meat and mead at my hearth and I shall not ask of you to do anything that would dishonor you."

The northmen roared approval. The dragon queen looked uncomfortable, but mostly resigned. It had undoubtedly been a blow to her to discover that he one thing she had been striving her entire life for didn't actually belong to her, but her nephew. From back in the room, Jaime watched her carefully now, wondering if he would see the same kind madness and lust for power that he saw in Cersei, or even her father the Mad King.

"I do not wish to delay this news any further. Information has been brought to us by Tormund Giantsbane and verified by Bran Stark, the Three-Eyed Raven: the Wall has fallen. The Night King now rides on the back of Queen Daenerys' fallen dragon."

Jaime felt his heart grow cold in his chest. _An undead dragon?_ He glanced at Brienne and saw the same alarm mirrored on her face.

"We must meet the enemy. The Night's Watch has abandoned Castle Black. It's no longer defensible. We're regrouping at Last Hearth. I expect all of you to prepare your soldiers to march in two days time. Lord Royce, I expect a small garrison of the Vale to stay behind to protect my cousin, the Lady Sansa. Now let's move!"

Jaime waited until the lords were gone before he followed suit, intent on spending the rest of the rest of the day getting beat to a bloody pulp by Brienne.

 **Author's Note:**

 **ginar369, Yes, I agree, I doubte Jon would have Jaime executed. Seems rather senseless. The wights aren't exactly known for their skill in battle, so even having a o** **ne-handed knight would be useful, not to mention Jaime is a good commander.**

 **2nd: I know that Jon's real name is Aegon. But his half-brother's name is Aegon. Why the show went with Aegon, I do not know. I changed it to Aemon for clarity.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: Howdy, folks! My Internet is finally up at my new place, so here's the next chapter! Thank you all so much for your patience! I hope you enjoy and as always I enjoy hearing your thoughts. =)**

 **ginar369 - Ned went to the Tower of Joy after Jaime had already killed the king. I'm sure Ned believes his reasons for lying to everybody are better than Jaime's ever could be. After all, in the first book, it's pretty clear that Ned still doesn't have a high opinion of Jaime at the beginning and refers to him as the Kingslayer.**

 **Chapter 15**

Jaime shuffled back to his and Tyrion's room aching all over, but it wasn't the pleasant ache from being bested in battle. After leaving the hall, he had been roped into moving firewood from a cart to a place by the wall. It had taken him until dinner and then some before it had all been fully shifted. Since he lacked a second hand, he'd been forced to carry it more slowly and awkwardly, but he refused help. Not that there would have been any available.

Winterfell had become like a kicked wasps nest. Everyone ran to and fro going about their duties and preparing for the march to Last Hearth, gathering rations, clothing, and steel. The women who trained in the yard with Brienne had not had their usual lessons and instead spent the time sewing more fur cloaks to make sure everyone was properly outfitted.

Brienne had spent her time training with Arya Stark. Jaime was willing to admit that stacking the wood had taken long in part because he had stopped to watch them fight. He had often heard sword-fighting described as a dance, but it was only looking at the two ladies crossing blades now that it really felt like one. For all of Brienne's size, she was surprisingly nimble and she clearly had to be with the way the Stark girl's little sword darted here and there as she danced around Brienne.

As he watched them, a powerful longing fell on him and he looked at where his right hand should be. He was wearing the gold hand, but had covered it with a glove. Despite the glove, he log he was carrying was resting on his forearm, making it glaringly obvious his hand was missing. He turned away and internally tamped down on the emotions welling up in him. He'd spent enough of his time in King's Landing moping about what he'd never have now that his hand was gone. He continued to the wood pile without a second glance.

He shoved his way into Tyrion's room.

"Ah, brother, I was hoping you would join me. Nothing like a post-dinner drink to lull one into a restful sleep, wouldn't you say?" Tyrion said. As ever, he was lying on his bed with a book sprawled in his lap, and he raised a cup of wine in toast.

"How it possible that wine is not rationed?"

"Surely, you're aware, Jaime, that a man needs more than three drinks a day."

"You paid an exorbitant sum for that, didn't you?"

"You wound me! That you would think any sum for Arbor Gold could be exorbitant."

"Be careful, brother. I'd hate to see what fix you are in when we're out of wine, especially since the longer winter goes, the more likely all of us will need a drink," Jaime replied. All the same, he poured himself a glass and sat down heavily in a chair next to his brother's bed, unable to hide the wince at the strain in his shoulders.

Tyrion smirked at him. "I saw you joined in on the effort with gusto once King J - Aemon passed his judgement."

"I did say I would help," Jaime replied, but he was looking at Tyrion suspiciously. "Did you know he was going to spare me?"

"No," Tyrion replied and his good cheer fell from his face. "I'm surprised you didn't see me trembling in my boots. I was more nervous than you."

"I wasn't nervous."

"Sure you weren't," Tyrion said, rolling his eyes. "He took judgement of you quite seriously. He interviewed me several times about you. Brienne, too. I wasn't there for them, but I'm under the impression she was positing that you were absolutely trustworthy. You don't deserve her, brother."

"I'm aware," Jaime said. "You didn't tell him the real reason why I killed Mad King Aerys?"

"That's not my secret to tell," Tyrion said, "but if it had come to it, if he was going to execute you, I would have jumped in and told them that."

"They might have thought you were spinning tales at that point." Jaime wasn't sure if he was glad or not that Tyrion hadn't spilled the story.

"Not me. I had Jon - gah, Aemon's - trust way back from the time I went to the Wall with him. Maybe in the future don't treat bastards like the dirt on your boot. You never know when they might be hidden kings."

"Noted," Jaime replied, with a grimace. He vaguely recalled japing at King Aemon's expense the day he left for the Wall. The exact words were lost to time. It seemed Jaime couldn't think back on a single moment in his past where he didn't wince. "Did you know that Jon was Aemon Targaryen."

"No, I was just as shocked as...anyone else in that room. Not as much as you though," Tyrion said and there was sympathy in his eyes.

Just the thought of Ned Stark made Jaime see red.

"Jaime!"

Tyrion's voice snapped him out of his anger again and he pried his own hand off his wine cup, surprised for a moment that he couldn't see dents in the form of his fingers on it. His brother just gave him a wry look, but didn't say anything.

The next day after lunch, Jaime was just heading back outside when King Aemon himself stepped up in front of him.

"Ser Jaime, may I have a word?"

Jaime waved a hand to indicate he would follow and they trooped up to to the Winterfell solar. The entire way there, Jaime was frowning at the back of the king's head wondering what he could have possibly done to warrant personal attention from the king. Aemon was courteous enough to allow him to maintain his knightly status, but as knights weren't highly regarded in the North, he still was held in little regard. Thankfully, after Aemon's speech, no one had said a single sour word against him, they just all regarded him with expressions that suggested he smelled terribly. He hadn't heard anyone utter Kingslayer within earshot and he found it to be a wonderful change of pace. It may always be counted among his deeds, whether good or ill, but at least no one referred to him as if it were his name.

"Wine?"

Jaime nodded and he was a little hesitant when it came to taking a sip.

"No need to look so suspicious. You haven't done anything to warrant the gallows."

"Why did you want to see me?"

Aemon almost looked embarrassed. "It was brought to my attention by Bran that you are among the last people alive who served my father. I was wondering if you would be willing to tell me...what was he like?"

Jaime blinked and in the next moment cast his mind back. He hadn't dared touch those memories for almost twenty years. Not so surprisingly, they were faded and muted with time. Only fragments existed now.

"Are you alright? You don't have to tell me. This isn't an order."

"It's...been a long time since I thought back to those years," Jaime muttered. He set the wine glass down and rubbed at his temple like he expected it to help him recall. "I'm afraid I don't remember what...Prince Rhaegar looks like anymore. He had shoulder length, flowing silver hair and violet eyes, you know the typical Targaryen traits. He was tall. I think I looked up at him whenever he addressed me. I may not have been done growing at the time, so take that for what you will."

Aemon took a seat and he was focused on Jaime like he was about to deliver a revelation from the gods.

"He was a good man. One of the best. He was kind and compassionate, like the princes from the stories. No one would have dared call him weak though and not just because he was the crown prince," Jaime said. There was a pause as he continued to gather his thoughts. "He played the harp. His favorite thing to do was leave the Red Keep, with one of the Kingsguard as escort and play for the people of King's Landing. He would stand on the streets like a common bard. His voice was smooth and clear and it made all the maidens weep."

It took him a moment to realize he was smiling and when he looked at Aemon, the boy's eyes seemed to be shining more than usual.

"He would have been a great king. A much better king than Robert ever could have been. I used to wonder how things would be if he had lived, but...there's no point in wondering what could be. I'm confident you will be a good king, too."

"How can you be so sure? I never had a royal upbringing."

"But you still had a noble one. And, from what I've gathered, you led the Night's Watch successfully until...you left it," Jaime said.

Aemon must have detected the question in his voice and said, "I did not break my oath to the Night's Watch. I gave my life to it. I fulfilled it."

"What does that even mean?" Jaime asked.

"It's as I said. Thank you for telling me about my father. It's gratifying to know that more than one Targaryen wasn't mad. Now, before you go, I wanted to discuss your position in the army. You have been very helpful, however it has been have noticed that you tire easily. You're still not fully recovered from your journey to Winterfell. It is with the Maester's recommendation that you stay here for the duration of this particular campaign."

Jaime shot to his feet. "But your grace, I came here to fight the Others!"

"I am not in the habit of throwing bodies at the enemy, especially this one. You would serve me better for the time being if you stayed here. Keep training and building your strength and I'm sure I'll call for you. You're dismissed."

Jaime opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't seem to find the words, and at Aemon's sharp look, he turned and exited, allowing the door to slam behind him.

At dinner, Jaime stabbed his food a bit more forcefully.

"It's already dead. You don't need to kill it again," Brienne said with a roll of her eyes.

Jaime couldn't resist smiling and he chuckled. "One can never be too sure."

"So what's got you hot under your collar?"

Jaime glanced around. At first glance, no one was paying attention to him, but scrunched shoulder to shoulder, there was no doubt that his words would carry beyond Brienne and Pod's ears. He preferred not to make his shame a public spectacle, so he said, "Later."

The topic was switched back to Pod's training to be a knight. They all had ceased training to prepare for the king and the army's departure, so Pod had yet to try out another weapon. Jaime suggested an axe since Tyrion had given him one after the Battle of the Blackwater.

He could practically feel Brienne's eyes burning through them as they deposited their dishes, so he went upstairs and stopped outside her door. She obligingly opened it and he followed her in.

"We're alone. You mind telling me -"

His lips on hers kept her from finishing the rest of her sentence. She hesitated only a moment before she began kissing him back with equal fervor. Her hand ran through the hair on the nape of his neck and he moaned happily in her mouth, only pulling away when he ran out of air.

"I do hate how we've been forced to be apart," Jaime mumbled.

"You won't distract me. That's not the real reason for your anger earlier today," Brienne said, but she was smiling at him.

"You're like a dog with a bone, Brienne," Jaime said, feigning hurt. He opened his mouth to tell her, but once again the words were stuck in his throat. He gave her a pained smile and said, "King Aemon has told me that I will not be joining the army. I'm still too weak from my journey north."

"That's a relief." He gave her a withering look. "It was obvious to every child in Winterfell that you're not up to full strength. I couldn't stand the thought that you might not return if you marched off with them."

"Never afraid of telling me uncomfortable truths, are you?" Jaime grumbled and he went over to sit on her bad, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped, and his chin resting on them. "I came here to fight the Others."

"I can only pray that they will never get this far and that this is the last time King Aemon needs to leave Winterfell to face such a foe. Don't be in such a rush to die, Ser Jaime," Brienne said.

"Why are you so convinced I'll die? Do you not have faith in me."

"It's not a matter of faith," Brienne spoke with the air of a parent telling their child a hard truth. "Don't rush off to prove your fighting skills like a green boy dying to prove himself in his first battle. It will do you no favors. Take advantage of the opportunity Ameon has given you and grow stronger and train."

"Your words aren't making me feel better," Jaime replied caustically.

She sighed in exasperation and peered at him with annoyance. "Is this better?" She leaned in to kiss him this time. He let her take charge and relaxed into it. She pushed him back until he was sprawled across her bed. She bent over over with him so that there was barely an inch of space between them. He moaned again as her thigh brushed his groin. She let off kissing to work on the straps of his armor.

"You're right, there are entirely too many layers between us," he said, sitting up a moment to work at the straps on her armor as well. When he reached for her shirt, she snatched his wrist in a vice grip.

"It's bad enough I have you in here doing things not even betrothed could get away with. I will require us to keep at least one layer of clothing between us."

"As you wish, my lady," Jaime said with a grin. He wrapped her up in his arms and pulled her down onto the bed with him. He couldn't keep his hand from roaming across her body and delighted in the content humming in her throat. "This will have to do for my last night with you for a while."

Brienne pulled away and gave him a puzzled look. "What are you talking about? Are you going somewhere?"

"You're leaving with the army to fight, aren't you?"

"I'm sworn to Lady Sansa! My place is here."

A slow mischievous smile spread across his face. "Staying in Winterfell doesn't sound so bad after all."

"You're impossible," Brienne said, finally climbing onto the bed to lay with him and nuzzled his cheek.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Winterfell became like a ghost town when all of the Dothraki, Unsullied, and northern troops left. The wind blew through the castle in gusts with the faint screams and moans of ghosts, giving the halls a cold and eerie atmosphere. It would be unpleasant to Jaime if he didn't have Brienne for company.

He spent his mornings in the training yard. With every new day, it took Brienne a little longer to beat him and he found himself on his back with her training sword at his throat less and less. Slowly but surely his fighting instincts so keyed to his right hand were changing to match the movements of his left. He was improving.

Podrick was also seeing improvement in his fighting with the axe as his new weapon. He still had a tendency to swing it around like he was chopping down wood, but as he grew stronger, his swings became more controlled. Jaime was hopeful they could knight him in time for his first battle. He had done enough heroics to earn it, he just needed the fighting skills to match.

Jaime abandoned any pretense of sleeping in the same room as his brother the night the king left. The pad on the floor offered no cushion and he tended to shiver through the frigid nights as even the fireplace wasn't enough to keep the room warm. It was simply too cold up north to sleep without a warm body in the same bed. He imagined that the only way his brother tolerated it was to get so drunk that he couldn't even feel the cold.

Evenings had quickly become his favorite time of the day. It was fortunate that neither he nor Brienne had duties that extended into the night…yet. He was of low enough status that he expected the Lady Sansa to set him for guard duty on the castle walls, but he was still yet 'too weak' by the Maester's estimates to be of much use to anybody. As loathe as he was to be viewed as weak, in this respect he would take advantage of it for as long as he could manage.

Every night he familiarized himself with Brienne's body and her with his body. His favorite parts were the scars. The ones he wasn't familiar with, he asked the story about. Granted, the story wasn't usually interesting, most of them having been earned in the training yard. He asked about a long, pale gash split between her forearm and her upper arm on the right.

"I was sneaking out of my room at night by tying the bedsheets together. As I was climbing down, one of the knots came undone and I fell the rest of the way. I hit my arm on a tree branch and not only did I tear it open, but I broke it in half. I was so afraid that I'd never pick up a sword again that my father felt like my fear was punishment enough for trying to sneak out. I certainly never tried that again."

Jaime laughed so hard, he rolled away from her and onto his back.

"It's not that funny," Brienne scoffed.

"I'm having difficulty reconciling that Brienne with you. The lawful Brienne, ever upright and stalwart, not willing to waver on her principles, who will always do right no matter the circumstances…defying her lord father by sneaking out of the castle." He burst into a fresh wave of laughter.

She scowled and swatted at him, but he could see the barest hint of a smile on her face.

They had yet to make love. Jaime wished for nothing more, but he refused in light of the circumstances. Not only would it be unfair to saddle Brienne with a bastard, but the end of the world wasn't the best time to raise a child either. He contented himself with bringing her to climax through other means.

"Do you think I don't know how sex works?" Brienne had asked him after coming down from her high. Her eyes were half-lidded and she lay sprawled on her back with her skin aglow. He never thought she looked so beautiful.

"Hmm?" Jaime had lain back on his side of the bed and looked over at her in confusion.

"You won't sheathe yourself in me. Why?"

"You want me to steal your virtue?" Jaime asked, his eyes wide in surprise. She had pleaded with him, but he had chalked it up to being in the throes of passion. "My lady, I didn't realize you were so wanton. What would your septa think?"

She sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes at him. "I suppose it's my fault for expecting you to take this seriously," she said, deliberately turning over so her back was to him.

"Brienne, I could not be more serious," Jaime said. His voice was low and lacked the usual mocking tone. "I would never disgrace you with a bastard. You deserve far better than that."

"There are ways around that," she said, her eyes were determined and she had a stubborn jut to her jaw. It was more often than naught the expression she wore as they battled in the training yard and it always made his blood run hot with excitement.

"You would drink moon tea?" He said and for an instant he saw uncertainty. It was there for a moment. He simply shook his head. "Even so, this world loves nothing more than to disparage a woman for the death of her virtue out of wedlock, like it's the only thing worth having. You are a hero and a knight and I would have you remembered for that."

She huffed. He knew she didn't do things to be remembered by in the history books. However, he did. Jaime could still see the disappointingly empty pages lain out in front of him from when he had reassumed his post as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. It felt like all of the Kingsguard from ages past were judging him for failing to uphold their legacy; a Kingsguard who was appointed the command post because he was family, not because he had earned it. His position as a Kingsguard had never felt so hollow as when he came back from captivity. All of his boyhood dreams to follow the code of the knight and be remembered in the pages of the Kingsguard were seemingly torn to shreds like a flag ripped from its pole by the wind.

When Brienne continued to give him the cold shoulder, he leaned over and whispered into her ear, "Don't think for a moment that I will never claim your maidenhead." She turned then with a question in her eyes. "When all of this is over, I will marry you, and I shall ravish you every day I have you."

A rosy blush blossomed on her cheeks, but she narrowed her eyes at him. "You seem awfully certain that you can do with me what you will."

"I would never presume such, my lady. I make proclamations with the caveat that your consent is a part of the deal."

"Don't you ever forget it," she replied and closed the space between them to kiss him again.

A few days later Jaime found himself shifting logs again for the fires of Winterfell. Even with the other soldiers gone, there was still plenty to do and to survive the winter required everyone to pitch in. He was halfway through the wood, when the guard shouted from the top of the wall. The whole yard stopped to stare up at him, then another guard rushed into the main castle.

Jaime returned to carrying wood.

"Ser Jaime." He turned to see Lady Sansa staring down at him from the balcony above. "Accompany me to the ramparts."

Brienne was just behind Sansa and he quirked a puzzled eyebrow at her, but she remained unmoved. He stumped up the steps carefully to avoid slipping on the ice that liked to accumulate. Even in his new, thick winter clothes, the cold seeped right through the fur and set his limbs atremble if he stopped moving for even a moment, so he was pleased when Lady Sansa immediately turned on her heel and set out on the rampart with both him and Brienne in tow.

They peered out over the wall and Jaime felt his breath freeze in his chest. An army was marching toward Winterfell, large enough that the line of men and horses snaked out of sight, disappearing in the cold. He could just distinguish colors of red and gold, but was that…blue?

"My men inform me that the banners are Lannister and Tully. Any idea what might be going on?"

"I left a garrison at Riverrun when I took it. After the Freys were destroyed, Edmure Tully took back the castle. I was so certain he had my men slaughtered. My sister would never trust the loyalty of your uncle to send him, not unless she was desperate." Disquiet fell over him. _She may yet be that desperate, but there's no way that Tully would raise arms against his niece._

They waited for the army to arrive. Jaime forgot the cold as he mulled over the possibilities of what this was and fervently hoped it wasn't yet more bad news. At some point, Tyrion joined them.

A party of six broke from the main body and galloped their horses to the gate. Only the Tully banner was represented. One of the men in the center threw back his hood and shouted, "I be lookin' for that cunt Jaime fookin' Lannister! Seen 'im around?"

"You know, Ser Bronn, I bother to use your honorific. Could you not at least use mine?"

"You're the only fookin' reason I'm in this mess."

"You stayed for the gold."

"I haven't bloody got it either! Nor my castle!"

"I'm not exactly in a position to give you either anymore," Jaime replied.

"Ser Bronn, you blaggard! I have gold. Abandon my brother for me. Double what he paid, just like I said."

"You better throw in that fookin' castle too."

"When Daenerys is queen, I'll set you up with a nice big castle."

"In the south. I don't want to deal with anymore of this cold than I have to."

"Done."

"Are you done here?" Edmure Tully snapped at the sellsword, but as was usual for Bronn, he paid the lord no attention. The Lord of Riverrun peered skyward at them and shouted, "Niece! This sellsword, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, delivered your message of dire need. I have rallied my banners and come to your aid."

Sansa smiled softly down at her uncle. "We sent you ravens, uncle."

"I am sorry, I must not have received them since my castle was until recently under Lannister occupation," he replied, sparing a moment to glare at Jaime.

"We thank you, uncle, for your support," Sansa replied. She turned to the guard. "Open the gate." Next she said to the Steward, "Please prepare rooms for my uncle the Lord Tully, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, and for as many of their troops as you can."

"Yes, my lady." The older man acquiesced with a bow.

They went down to the yard where the Tully and Lannister armies had already started to file in. Bronn made a big show of rubbing his hands together and stomping his feet. "This place is bloody well cold enough of freeze a man's balls off! Did you make it here all by yourself?"

"Yes," Jaime said and was pleased at the way Bronn gaped at him.

"That sounds about as mad as your fookin' sister."

Jaime quirked an eyebrow at him and said, "It was harrowing. Now…about my sister."

"I ain't sayin' nothing until I have a proper meal and a tankard of ale."

"It's the sourest piss you ever could drink," Tyrion piped up.

"At this point, I would drink it even if it was piss straight from a horse. As long as it warms me."

"Kingslayer."

Jaime turned to see Edmure Tully march purposefully over him with a thunderous expression. He stood there respectfully for him. Lord Tully had a large enough wind up that Jaime could have sidestepped the punch, but he took it full on in the face, and even then it only staggered him. He heard a distinctive crack and when he reached up to touch his nose, a wellspring of blood began dribbling down his face.

"Uncle, what are you doing?"

"It's alright. I deserved that," Jaime said, though he did step back when Edmure made to grab him.

Bronn stepped between them and had a hand on the Tully's breastplate to stop him in his tracks. "That move was so obviously telegraphed a blind man coulda seen that comin'. You hit him because he let you."

"Uncle, what is the meaning of this?" Sansa stormed over to them. There was a redness to her cheeks that didn't have anything to do with the cutting wind.

"The Kingslayer threatened to catapult my son over Riverrun's walls if I didn't surrender the castle to him."

"Yes, uncle, we know," Sansa replied. "I realize you weren't here, but Ser Jaime Lannister has been given a full pardon on _all_ of his crimes. Call him the Kingslayer no longer."

"What?" Edmure gaped at his niece and Bronn stared at her in shock, then leaned around to where Jaime was still trying to stop the bleeding.

"I must say, you've done well for yerself here."

"Come inside and warm yourself by the fire. All will be explained. Lady Brienne, would you please fetch the maester for Ser Jaime?"

"I don't need a maester," Jaime said. He grimaced at the taste of copper on his tongue, but he could tell his nose had stopped leaking. "I'd like some water to wash my face though."

"Very well," Sansa replied and sent a young maid to grab the bowl of water. "Ser Jaime, Lord Tyrion, I would like your presence at the meeting. You may be able to provide valuable insight regarding your sister."

They retired to a private room. Sansa ordered food and drinks be brought for her uncle and Bronn.

"Now, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, what news do you have to report?" Sansa asked.

Bronn turned to Jaime and Tyrion. "Your sister's gone fookin' mad. She lost it when you escaped. Had every man who was on your trail butchered like pigs. I hightailed it out of there and into the city. I know when a deal's gone south. She was gonna be lookin' for me next."

"She refuses to increase supplies to the city as well. There's a riot on her door every day. She sent out a squad to disperse the crowd and they were absolutely torn to shreds, so she had archers fire on the crowd from the top o' the wall. When that didn't work, she ordered jars of Wildfire be thrown onto the crowd. The bodies burned for days, but she just let them lie out there in front of the door as a warning. So everyone wants to flee the city. She won't be queen of fookin' nothing if the city starves to death. I left about the city about a week after you did."

Jaime cocked his head. "You took your time getting here."

"I brought an army with me. Your army! Why didn't you pick them up on the way north?"

"Because, as you might have guessed, Lord Tully and I did not exactly part on the most favorable of terms," Jaime said, sparing Edmure a glance who clinched his jaw and his fists all at once.

"You threatened my child!"

"My job was to take Riverrun bloodlessly. My idle threat accomplished that."

"Uncle! We've been over this. Ser Jaime has been pardoned of every crime he has committed," Sansa said.

"Why would you do that?"

"My broth – my cousin pardoned Ser Jaime. We need all the help we can get. He is confident that Ser Jaime will be an asset."

"Your cousin? Are you referring to Lord Robin Arryn of the Eyrie?"

"No, my cousin, Jon Snow, was never actually a bastard. He is the legitimate son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. My brother Bran, who is the Three-eyed Raven and Samwell Tarly were able to independently verify that."

Edmure could only stare with his mouth gaping. Bronn was considerably less interested in the news and started to dig into the food that a servant set in front of his face, wolfing it down like a starved dog. Sansa wrinkled her nose delicately at the sellsword's manners, but said nothing.

"Jon's real name is Aemon Targaryen. He is now referred to as King Aemon and is the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

Edmure continued to make gasping noises as he tried to search for the words and then he glanced around and said, "Where is his grace? I need to make my pledge of loyalty."

"King Aemon with the North and Daenerys Targaryen's army marched to Last Hearth to halt the Night King and his army of the undead. They left only five days past and likely won't reach Last Hearth for at least another week."*

"Shall I march my troops to join the King then?"

Sansa seemed stunned that he was asking her, and she looked around the table until her eyes settled on Jaime with a question in her eyes.

"Actually, Lord Edmure, the king left us with a garrison of only five hundred. Should the Night King get around the King's army, we will be left woefully undefended. It's best that you stay here. When you set up camp outside the wall, make sure to keep a fresh rotation of guards going throughout the night. We can ill afford thousands of men being beset by the undead."

Edmure's face became like stone. "I'm not listening to a word you have to say, Kingslayer!"

"Uncle, you will respect Ser Jaime by addressing him formally. I know nothing of war and I shall defer to him in this respect," Sansa said. "Now, I shall have the servants draw you and Ser Bronn a bath. I am glad you could make it uncle. We need all the help we can get."

When they exited the chambers, Sansa slowed her pace so that it matched Jaime's. "Thank you for your input, Ser. I may know politics and how to deal with Cersei, but war will forever elude my grasp. With most everyone of high rank with Jo- Aemon, your insight will be invaluable."

"I am at your service, my Lady," Jaime replied.

"You still have some blood on your face. Are you sure you don't need a maester?"

"It's already stopped bleeding, but thank you," Jaime said and they parted ways as he headed once more to Brienne's room. Brienne followed. Within the safety of Winterfell, Sansa insisted that she did not need someone to dog her every step, so Brienne only hovered at her side when greeting guests.

As soon as the door was closed, Brienne said, "Threatened to catapult his baby over the wall?"

"I was never going to. Maybe grab up some other baby, but never his. He had to believe it through," Jaime said. It was the first thing he said that really made him feel like the man his father had always wanted him to be, but whereas Lord Tywin _would_ actually catapult an enemy's baby, Jaime knew he could never do it. Harming an innocent child for the sins of his parents was monstrous and he was also certain Brienne would never look at him the same way again.

"I wish there had been another way, but you did achieve your goals. It's hard to criticize, knowing that," Brienne said with a small smile.

Jaime washed the blood from his face and toweled off, then looked over at her. "What did I do to deserve you?"

She snorted. "Nothing. Some of us get what we deserve and some of us don't. Be thankful that what you apparently deserved was someone to love you."

He shuddered. "Indeed. I'm sure there's more than just Edmure here who still thinks I deserve to have my head cut off and the Lannister line extinguished."

"Those people are fools. Just keep doing what you're doing. Eventually, they'll see the man that I see." She leaned in for a kiss and he happily met her.

It was a challenge to keep his hands off Brienne. He was afraid in these heated moments that he would grant both of their desires and take her virtue in a frenzy, so he willed himself to keep his hands firmly on her hips. At one point, Jaime moved away from her lips and kissed up her jawline to her ears and nibbled at them.

She moaned and swayed and then suddenly asked against his ear, "What will we do after?"

"After what?"

"The war?"

"Well…we have to…knock Cersei off her throne," Jaime said, wincing even as he said his own sister's name. "With your consent, we'll get married and I'll help you provide that heir for Tarth."

"You would marry? I am under the impression that you had an aversion to the thought."

"Not when it's with the woman I love," he said with a grin.

 **The End**

 **Author's Note:** **Yep, the end. I'll be the first to say that the ending is sloppy and rushed, but...I didn't have anything else to write after this chapter. Furthermore, I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month and I didn't want this story to languish for a month while I worked on that. My NaNoWriMo project is another GoT fic. I intend to start posting it when November is done.**

 **Thank you, everyone, for reading this fic! It was great fun hearing your thoughts and I'm glad I could expand on a piece of story that was unlikely to get much consideration in the show.**


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